


That Time They Were Professors

by BoundLight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale appearing as Azira Fell, BAMF!Crowley - Freeform, Because he's lazy and never got a proper human name, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bullying, Crowley gets revenge, Dirty Talk, Gabriel is a dick, Harassment, Hastur and Ligur are dicks, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Professor AU, Protective Crowley, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Stubborn Aziraphale, Threatened Rape/Non-Con, Top Crowley (Good Omens), crowley and his plants, though maybe not the kind he'd hoped for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoundLight/pseuds/BoundLight
Summary: New summary, cause I suck at summaries.Azira loves his job, but even he will be the first to admit the English department is a toxic environment. One day, needing some plant care tips, he ventures into another part of the university and meets the dashing Professor Crowley, and his life is forever changed. Professor Crowley is equally smitten, and is far less tolerant of how Azira is treated by his colleagues.





	1. Chapter 1

It started out innocently enough. Professor A. Z. Fell had wanted to brighten up his office.

He taught several courses in literature and a few in religious studies, and his office was overflowing with his many rare books. He had a collection that was the envy of any other university in the country, and perhaps further, though Azira had never cared much about that. He just loved to read, and loved collecting. The majority of the books he kept in his office were rare bibles with interesting mistakes, and books of prophecy – first editions usually, and almost every single one signed. It was something difficult to achieve, and in truth, hunting them down was half the fun. He honestly had more books than space, with many stacks reaching nearly to the ceiling.

While anyone else would have struggled to find anything, Azira knew exactly where everything was. The only concession he'd made to space was a worn and well loved sofa that backed against one wall. He'd spent many a night on that sofa reading beside a cooling cup of cocoa, completely unaware of the world outside his office.

Being one of the more rebellious professors in his department, through the years he'd been moved to smaller and smaller offices. Rather than learn the lesson he was sure Dean Gabriel wanted him to learn, perhaps about using his knowledge and collection for the advancement of the prestige of his department, he made due with his too small work space and kept to himself.

Despite his unpopularity with his fellow professors, he was surprisingly popular with the student body, at least with the Literature majors among them. Azira was outwardly a very strict teacher, but he was also known to be incredibly kind and understanding, and was easy to bribe with sweets. His graduate teaching assistant Anathema Device helped spread these rumors, especially to those students with dark rings under their eyes, clearly doing their best not to fall out of their seats after pulling an all-nighter. Azira knew what she was doing, but he also loved having students show up to his class or office with pipping hot crepes, so he never seriously tried to stop her.

Adam Young was a frequent visitor of his. While not a Literature major, Adam had taken a few required courses with Azira as the over qualified babysitter, and now spent at least a few hours every week in the professor's office, either peppering the older man with questions, or picking through the many books.

Adam shoved his notebook back in his backpack. “It's so dreary in here, you should really do something about it.”

“It's not that bad. You get used to it.” Azira shrugged.

“Not that bad. That definitely sounds like the kinda place I'd want to spend all my time. And I'm here practically all the time. If I'm not used to it, you sure aren't. You're one of the most particular people I've ever met.”

“I sound like a riot,” Azira deadpanned. “It's a wonder you're always here, I'm so fun.”

Adam laughed, and preformed the intricate dance required to get out the door without knocking over any of the many piles of books. “Think about it, professor. You'd be a lot happier in here if there was a little life!”

Azira frowned at the door and glanced around his office. Maybe it was a bit dark in here. There were plenty of lights, after all it wouldn't do to strain his eyes more than he already was, but he could see Adam's point. Deciding to call it a day, he packed up his suitcase with the few of the papers he still needed to grade and locked his door. On his way home he stopped at a store and looked through their plants, eventually settling on a bright pink one. He wasn't sure what kind it was, but it was pretty, and he was sure it would brighten up his office.

The next day he placed it haphazardly near a window, and promptly forgot about it. Several weeks later he pulled his head up from the prophecies of Nostradamus and turned to smile at his pretty pink plant, only to find it barely clinging to life. Azira knew it wasn't long until it would be past saving. He blessed under his breath and rushed out of his office, only to slam right into the English department Dean, Gabriel.

Gabriel shoved Azira back a bit, knocking him back into his office. “Not slacking off, are you? Someone as worthless as you doesn't have time socialize you know. Not that anyone would want to talk to you anyway.” Gabriel smiled his usual condescendingly mocking smile, looking around the claustrophobic office with distaste.

Azira drew himself up, doing his best to remain calm. Defending himself never worked around Gabriel. “I'll have you know that I have all my grading done, and next weeks assignments laid out. My classes are going perfectly well, but _thank you_ for your concern.”

Gabriel's judgmental eye settled on the dying pink plant. “Well, well. Not even plants what to listen to your dreary lectures.”

Azira straightened his jacket, and did his best not to let Gabriel see the impact of his words. “Yes, well. I'm sorry you think so, but I really must be going, so...”

Gabriel smirked, and stepped just outside the room. Azira was crowded against the door as it closed, struggling not to touch the Dean as he turned the key in its lock. Gabriel pressed closer knowing he was making his subordinate uncomfortable.

“This was certainly a lovely visit, but I do need to go now so...” Azira stepped carefully around the Dean and hurried out of the building.

“By the way,” Gabriel called after him. “Lose the gut.”

_Where to go_... Azira mused. The students outside looked at him curiously. Many of them had classes with him at some point or another, as the English department tended to give him all of the tedious underclassman classes none of them wanted to deal with, but it was rare to see him outside the building's walls. Azira didn't notice them or their whispers. Dealing with Gabriel had taught him long ago that nothing good came from engaging with people. His eye caught a greenhouse in the distance. He didn't want to bother anyone, but maybe they'd know where to send him.

The walk to the greenhouse was refreshing after spending so long cooped up in the English department. He loved his office – practically lived there – but he'd be the first to admit the building was a toxic environment. At least for him. When he'd first arrived at this University it had seemed like a good place. His colleagues were polite, if distant, and the students were eager to learn. After the President of the University left on sabbatical however, their department was left largely unsupervised, and Gabriel and Michael had assumed control. They felt that everything would run smoother if there was an established hierarchy, and somehow or other Azira had ended up on the bottom. He knew he should leave but he just couldn't bring himself to. Despite everything, he loved teaching far too much to leave.

The walk cleared his head and left him with a slight spring in his step. He'd never been to any other department before, and he wasn't quite sure where to go. Should he stop by the main office and request assistance? But then, the greenhouse was a pretty obvious building... He stood uncertainly outside the glass paneled building.

“_Is that a spot?!”_

Azira drew back. Was someone shouting inside?

The voice dropped, to an unidentifiable murmur, but the continued hostility was obvious. Azira moved closer, curious despite himself.

“_Grow. Better!!”_

Azira pulled the door open just a tad to see if he could detect what else was being said. Moments later he stumbled back as the door flew open.

The most handsome man he'd ever seen stood in the doorway holding a beautiful plant carelessly in one hand. Azira blushed and found himself at a loss for words, too stunned by the man's appearance to even step back.

“Who are you?” The man asked. He stopped in the doorway, unable to move past Azira without pushing him.

He was wearing tight jeans, a black shirt button down shirt and black suit jacket, and shades for some reason even though he'd just come from inside. His flaming red hair contrasted wonderfully.

“Hello? Are you alright?”

Azira jerked back, blinking rapidly. “Oh! Sorry, yes, of course, I'm sorry, I'll just, uh... step... over here...”

“Right...” the man stepped around him, but instead of continuing on he stopped again, observing Azira just as much as he was being observed. “So who are you?”

“I – I'm Azira Fell. I teach over in the English department.”

The man smiled. “Azira. I like it. I'm Crowley. I teach life sciences among other things. So, Azira, what are you doing here?”

Azira blushed. He liked how his name sounded coming from this man. “I... I... I'm afraid I need help with a plant?”

“A plant? Any specific kind?”

Azira blushed darker and ran a hand through his hair. “It's pink?”

Instead of scowling at him, or insulting him as he expected, Crowley smiled. He handed Azira the plant he was holding. “Wait right here.”

Azira clutched the plant to his chest as Crowley turned and walked back into the greenhouse. After a few minutes he finally looked away from the door and studied the plant in his arms. He wasn't sure what kind it was. It was all green and it didn't have any flowers on it, but it was still lovely. If Crowley had taken care of this, he was certainly talented. As he turned it over he saw a slightly browned circle in one leaf, hardly noticeable if you weren't looking. Azira pet the leaf softly. “Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed. “It's ok, I'm sure you'll be better in no time.”

“Stop that,” Crowley said, closing the door behind him. “Don't encourage her.”

Azira jumped, a light pink returning to his cheeks. Crowley had a bag with him, filled with any number of things that all looked strange. The most prominent was a bright green squirt bottle. He made sure the door was properly secured, and turned with a sharp smile. “Well, lead the way, angel.”

“Oh, no, I don't want to take up any of your time, I'm sure I just need a little fertilizer or something...”

Crowley smirked. “It's no trouble. Besides, my curiosity is officially peaked. I insist on seeing what kind of office you have.”

If Azira blushed any further he was sure he'd die. To distract himself he set off at a brisk pace toward his office. Crowley chuckled and sauntered after him. They'd only gone a few feet before Azira stopped. Crowley ran into him, dropping his bag. “Wha...?”

“Ah! I'm so sorry! Here, let me help pick that up!” Azira scooped up Crowley's fallen bag, making sure to keep the plant from falling. “I'm so stupid, I just thought... It was so rude of me to just walk on ahead, and I thought if I paused for a moment I could walk beside you, and of course I should have –”

“Angel, angel,” Crowley laughed, “Relax, please. It's all fine. Nothing's broken.”

Azira glanced at the few students covertly looking their way. If Crowley noticed he didn't say. He just smiled, clearly amused. Azira felt there was something else there, but it was hard to tell with the dark glasses obscuring his eyes. “Okay then... let's keep going.” Crowley took off, taking care to keep Azira's pace.

“So... what kind of plant is this?” Azira asked, unable to stand the silence.

“This is a Boston fern. Her name is Vivian.”

“That's a nice name. Why are we bringing her along?”

Crowley scowled at the plant. “She knows what she did.”

Azira could swear the plant in his arms began to shake. “I'm sure whatever it is she didn't mean it.”

Crowley turned his glare on Azira. “She got a spot! A spot! I explicitly warned them what would happen if they didn't look beautiful, and she went and did it anyway. I can't leave her in the greenhouse giving the others an excuse to be less than perfect. They won't respect me if they think there are no consequences for their actions.”

Azira felt his face heat again. How could this man be so attractive? His walk, his smile, his hair, his outfit... it was all so perfectly crafted, and suited him so well. But underneath it all, Azira could tell there was something good about him. Something kind. Just being near him was like sinking into a hot bath.

The English department building was a pristine white, with tall ceilings and large frosted windows. The first two floors and a basement were dedicated to classrooms. The third and fourth floor were faculty offices. The floors were polished to a high shine that reflected everything, making the lights blinding at first. Azira didn't notice. He led the way up to the top floor.

Crowley peered into every room they passed. The offices were very different from the ones on his side of campus. For one thing the offices were all huge. They all contained large, beautiful desks, and comfy looking leather chairs. They looked like the kind of offices you'd see in a magazine. If there were magazines for university offices. Occasionally there were bookcases that looked like they were there more for artistic purposes than practical. The books on them all had the same spines and coloration, and were occasionally behind glass. They definitely weren't the kind of books that were referenced on a regular basis. Crowley was surprised to find that at least one in every ten offices were empty, but were no less pristine.

Azira took them through twisting hallways until they reached a dark door with no name plate. He pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. The room inside was warm and cozy. Definitely more the kind of office Crowley was used to, while being less than half the size of many of the offices they'd passed on the way there. Bookcases lined all the walls, with the one exception of a space for a worn green sofa. The bookcases looked battered and old. The books on them were stacked haphazardly without any noticeable sort order. The books spilled onto end tables and chairs, a few even onto the floor, still in neat stacks, clearly placed with a purpose, but making walking a tad hazardous. Azira unconsciously ran a hand along the spines as he walked in, unconsciously humming softly, his feet knowing exactly where to step.

Crowley smiled. He wasn't used to warming up to people so quickly, but something about Azira just made his heart warm in ways that were a bit unusual for him.

Azira stopped by the window, frowning sadly at a wilting, pink flowered plant. “I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job keeping her alive.”

“Hm,” Crowley took an exaggerated look at the plant, using it as an excuse to step right into Azira's space. “An Azalea. These usually prefer to be planted outside.”

“Oh,” Azira looked crushed.

“It's alright, we'll get her back.” He took his bag from Azira arms and got to work. Azira held the Boston fern closer to his chest and stepped out of Crowley's way. As much as he liked being so close to this strange new man, he didn't want to hover. It was difficult. He was desperately curious as to what Crowley was doing.

As though he could tell, Crowley grinned over his shoulder and beckoned Azira closer. “Azalea's prefer acidic soil, so we're going to add some vinegar. Not a lot, just mix a small amount in with the water. They don't like to be too wet, so be careful not to over water. And they don't like direct sunlight, so we'll move this over to... your desk! Now for Vivian...” Crowley took the Boston fern out of Azira's arms. “She also doesn't like direct sunlight, so we'll place her on this bookshelf. She's going to want moist soil, so we'll water her pretty regularly.”

“I couldn't take your fern! She's so beautiful, I'm sure she'd look better where more people could see her.”

“You're adorable.” Crowley slapped a hand to his mouth. Azira's eyes flew wide, and the blush he thought he'd banished returned. After a few moments Crowley hesitantly lowered his hand. Azira wished again that the shades were gone. He still couldn't get an exact read on what Crowley was thinking. His heart thundered in his ears. Outside there was a crack of thunder and raindrops started to patter against the window.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Crowley asked.

Azira's breath caught in his throat. “Y-yes. That would be lovely.”

Crowley held back as Azira stepped through the door. He smiled winningly at Azira's questioning look. “I need just a moment.”

Azira looked confused, but stepped beyond the door.

Crowley leaned in close to the Boston fern. “This is your last chance. Disappoint me again and I'll throw you from the roof. And _you_,” he hissed at the Azalea, “You're under my thumb now. If you aren't in full bloom tomorrow I'll kill you. Do not test me – better plants than you have tried.”

Crowley had an innocent smile on his face as he stepped out of Azira's office. “Shall we?”

Outside the rain was coming down hard. Azira opened an umbrella and held it carefully over Crowley, unmindful of the drops that fell on him. Crowley stopped, stunned at the sight of Azira smiling beautifully in the rain, his blond hair reflecting the light, creating a halo around his head. He quickly looked away knowing he'd stared longer than socially permitted, and tried to nonchalantly saunter toward the administrator parking lot. A few students did a quick double take at the sight of the two of them together, but Azira and Crowley were too wrapped in each other to notice.

“Oh, my,” Azira said, as Crowley unlocked the Bentley. “How beautiful!”

“I know, right? I've had her since new. One owner, and that's me. She's my baby.”

“But how is that possible? This looks like a relatively old design.”

“Well... she's an older girl, I'll grant you, but she spent her life as part of some collection. She was never driven, just left in a large garage. Does that count as having an owner? I'd argue no. If she's not out flaunting her stuff, she's just been put on hold. Nah, you ask me, I'm the first time she ever really existed as a car.”

Azira hid a smile, amused at Crowley's affectionate tone.

The interior was all leather. Azira ran a hand over it as Crowley started the vehicle. His eyes caught on a cassette player. He shot a glance at Crowley, but did not remark on it. Crowley looked so cool it was hard to believe he'd be into such old technology.

Crowley graced him with a sharp smile and started the car. Immediately Queen's _Someone to Love _blared through the speakers. Crowley jumped and scrambled to cut the music, but it was too late. Azira was already doubled over giggling. After a moment Crowley joined him.

“Okay, you caught me,” Crowley said. “I like old things. Old cars, old music...” he cast an eye over Azira's very old, dated outfit. “But you have to admit, sometimes old things are better.”

Azira eyed Crowley's trendy haircut, and his crisp, fashion conscious attire. “They have more longevity, that's true.”

“No planned obsolescence... Better craftsmanship...”

“Certainly, and much better quality of the material, I've always thought.”

“And they never really go out of style.”

“Well...”

“Ha! Name one older thing that's gone well and truly out of style.”

“Really? Where to start? Powdered wigs?”

“I don't know about that, they're still worn for legal occasions.”

“It used to be required for all men of substance,” Azira rejoined. “When was the last time you wore a powdered wig?

“Am I a man of substance?”

“Are you not? My mistake. I was under the impression you were a professor at a prodigious university, but if you're not...”

“You can say what you like,” Crowley teased, “but I'm just a bit disappointed that's as far back as you can go. Why not further? Say, the loincloth.

“Have those really gone out of style though? I'm fairly certain they're still worn in the hotter regions.”

“Ha!” Crowley crowed. “From the days of the cavemen to the twenty-first century! Still popular! Still in style!”

“Are they really though? I mean, they're worn, but are they popular?”

“You said it yourself, angel. Hotter regions. Do you really want to be wearing trousers in... how hot does it get in hotter regions?”

Azira laughed. “I don't know! How could I know that?”

Crowley put on his most affronted expression. “You don't know? I'm sorry, I'm not sure I can take such a gorgeous man to dinner if he can't even tell me the average temperature of some place he's never been, somewhere relatively close to the equator.”

“That seems fair. You can just let me out here.”

“Well, not here. Seems a bit sketchy here, especially in the dark.”

“Where then?”

“I was thinking... the Ritz? Then you can get a room if you absolutely need. After all, walking home so late... not the wisest move.”

“Walking would be a bit much for me, I'm afraid. But maybe I'll just find a handsome man to give me a lift.”

“Someone like you could certainly find a willing man, I'm sure,” Crowley's amused expression fell to horror. “Not that I think you're easy! Oh, fuck!”

Azira held his offended expression for all of one minute before he could no longer contain the laughter. Crowley's relief was palpable.

“So, where are we going really?”

“Still the Ritz, I wasn't joking about that.”

“The Ritz? Are you sure? Seems a bit...”

“Ostentatious?”

“Pricey for the first date?”

“This is a date? Are you sure?”

“Well, I mean...”

“Could just be that I'm heading to dinner, and you happen to be joining me.” Crowley grinned rakishly. “Unless you'd like this to be a date?”

Azira almost denied it, but there was a hint of something almost vulnerable in Crowley's face. “I would like that, yes.”

Crowley was momentarily shocked by the answer. He covered it quickly with another salacious smile. “Well in that case, I happen to think it's perfect, and I'm driving so... though I suppose we could grab some fast food if you'd rather. A nice greasy bag of something terrible, and then up to make-out point?”

“Make-out point? I'm tempted to call your bluff just to see where we end up, but more to the point, what makes you think you're getting _that_ lucky tonight?”

Crowley's grin was all promise, and Azira felt his face heat, and something in his chest tighten. He'd only known this man for an afternoon! How was he already this far gone?

A valet took the car at the door, and they entered the truly stunning building. Crowley gave his name to the host, and to Azira's surprise they were immediately shown to a table.

“Did you call ahead?”

Crowley shrugged, his face blank. “What can I say? Just lucky I guess.”

Azira narrowed his eyes, but Crowley guiltless expression gave away nothing. In one overly dramatic move he pulled out a chair for Azira before taking his own. He waved away the offered menus. “We'll both take the Surprise with the fine wine selection. And we'll finish with the Crepes Suzette.”

“A fine selection, sir.”

Crowley didn't look smug, but it was a close thing.

“Showing off a little, are we?”

“Seemed appropriate.” Crowley leaned back in his chair, lounging in a pose that seemed impossible, but from his face seemed to be the most comfortable position in the world.

The food was amazing, the wine more so, and the dessert was the perfect cap to it all. Azira loved food, and for him the evening was a wash of euphoria both in the delightful tastes, and the unparalleled company. Crowley picked at his food, and more often than not either held out a fork to feed Azira, or sneak food onto his plate. Despite it all, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, more than once nearly falling from his chair in laughter. Azira was amazed at the fun he was having. He didn't even seem to care about the occasional annoyed glance that was sent their way.

Most people in his department accused him of being dreadfully dull. At every one of his evaluations Gabriel would accuse him of doing nothing more than put his classes to sleep, and bemoan the fact that he never learned the social skills required to communicate with anyone outside the 14th century. He was never sure exactly how to handle that note, and no matter what he did Gabriel would mock him for it. If Crowley thought he was socially inept, he didn't show it. Crowley acted as though he were the most interesting man in the world, and being with him, Azira was tempted to believe it.

The night moved seamlessly from dinner to dessert, back to Crowley's car. Azira felt more content than he had ever in his life. Watching the light of passing street lamps play across Crowley's face he drove them back to Azira's house, he felt as though he'd finally found a place he belonged.

The Bentley pulled up in front of an old bookshop in SoHo. Crowley peered out at it. “Are we... in the right place?”

“Yes, I own the bookshop and the apartment above it. Would you... Like to come in and have a look around?”

Crowley didn't need to be asked twice.

One of the many reasons Azira didn't own a car was due to how hard it was to find parking near his shop. Through some miracle, somehow Crowley found a parking space immediately. Azira found himself clinging to the door in desperation at the sudden insane speed the Bentley put on to reach it before anyone else took it – which seemed a bit ridiculous given the hour. In another flash Crowley was at his door, opening it and offering a hand out. Azira took it, and felt a deep thrill when Crowley kept his hand tightly in his as they walked to the shop. When they stepped up to the door Crowley paused and read the ludicrously long description of hours, and found himself gasping for breath, leaning heavily in to Azira as he laughed. “What the hell is that? That – is the best thing I think I've ever seen. You are amazing, angel.”

Azira busied himself unlocking the door, not trusting himself to respond. Crowley crowded him against it, gently encouraging him to turn. “I mean it. You're amazing.”

“No, you're just drunk. Why did I let you drive, again? Terribly irresponsible –”

Crowley silenced him with a kiss.

Azira froze, lost in a sudden short circuit in his mind. Crowley deftly pulled the keys from his unresisting fingers, unlocked the door, and stepped them through it, all without breaking contact. He shut and locked the door, and pulled away with a rakish grin. “Focus, angel.”

Azira blinked, and tried to breathe. Crowley's arms were around him, his hands inside his jacket, one hand doing it's best to get up inside his vest, the other teasing at his waistband, fingers dipping below. His mouth now freed nosed up behind his ear to place a wet kiss, before biting down the smooth column of his throat.

His heart was racing, his breath stuttering out of his chest. All around him was Crowley, his touch, his scent, his lips. He felt lightheaded, his heart was about to burst. He shoved Crowley back, hating himself immediately.

Crowley's movement stopped, but he didn't go far. His expression was unreadable, but his head tilted in what Azira knew was a justified question.

“I – I'm sorry,” Azira stuttered. His eyes clenched shut, and his head dropped. Not even a full day and he'd already ruined everything. “This is just... a little too fast for me.”

Crowley's expression softened. He tucked a hand beneath Azira's chin and raised his head up. He placed a light kiss to his brow and pulled him close. Azira stiffened, unsure of what was happening. Crowley chuckled and guided Azira's hands to wrap around him in a loose embrace. “It's okay, angel. You don't have to apologize. We can move at any speed you want.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to Azira's lips, and then stepped back. He made sure to keep Azira's hand carefully in his, but otherwise removed all contact. “Now. How about a tour?”

Azira laughed awkwardly. He tried to discreetly wiped away a little wetness that had gathered at his eyes. “Where to start... Um... this is the shop?”

“Interesting.”

Azira's shoulders hunched, and his eyes darted to Crowley's face to see if he was being sarcastic. Crowley tugged at his hand and ventured further into the shop looking at the books that lined the shelves. “These all look like they're quite old.”

“Yes, I specialize in religious books, and prophecies, but I have a very wide selection of classics, and, well, honestly anything that catches my fancy. I end up with a rather eclectic selection, but I couldn't bare to be parted from any of them.”

“And what about the books in your office?”

“It can be hard for students to find the material they need. I try to keep books I know will help on their thesis available for them.”

“You're so kind,” Crowley said.

“Ha, no. It's not like I let those books out of my sight.”

“You can try to hide it all you like, angel. But I know the truth.”

Azira looked away, but he could still feel Crowley's smirk.

“Yes, well... care for a nightcap?” Azira gave Crowley's hand a tug and led them to the back of the shop. He nudged Crowley towards a sinfully comfortable couch and then ducked away to grab a bottle of wine. He hesitated over the bottles for just a moment trying to determine which would be the perfect end to the evening before shrugging and grabbing several and hurrying back to the the couch.

Crowley was sprawled across it, his lanky form barely fitting in the confined space. In his hands he had Dante's _Divine Comedy_, a first edition Azira had worked extremely hard to get his hands on. It had been sitting on an end table by the couch, waiting for some light reading during his frequent bouts of insomnia. Crowley closed the book hurriedly and fumbled it back on the table, and sat up.

Azira smiled affectionately, and set the opened bottle on the table to breathe. He chose to sit on the far side of the couch. If he were honest with himself, he wanted to press close to Crowley, but after having rebuffed him, he wasn't sure if it were allowed. He didn't want to be accused of leading the other man on. Crowley allowed the distance for a few moments before carefully sliding closer – not quite touching, but near. “Is this okay?”

Azira found he couldn't speak. All he could do was nod shakily. Crowley smiled and took Azira's hand.

“So I've gotta ask, how do you teach so many classes _and_ run a bookshop? You don't seem the type to let someone else run it for you.”

“Well,” Azira bit his lip. “I don't actually run the bookshop, per se.”

“Oh?”

“If I'm being honest, this shop is more of a place to keep my books than to sell them. And anyway, I've worked far too hard to gather my collection to just let someone buy them. How do I know my book is going to a good home? It would just end up on the self of someone who had no idea how valuable a book they had and gather dust until it fell apart. It would be careless of me to allow that to happen.”

Crowley did his best not to smile, but it was a close thing. “Impeccable logic.”

Perhaps thirty minutes later Azira reached for a bottle of ten year old Cabernet Sauvignon. They drank glass after glass until the bottle was empty, to wrapped in each other and the easy flow of their conversation to even notice the passage of time. When the final drop had been wrung from the bottle Azira considered opening a second, but his head felt pleasantly fuzzy, and getting up to pull another cork felt like an awful lot of work. He turned to ask Crowley his opinion to find his colleague swaying.

“Feeling alright, my dear?”

Crowley turned to him with a besotted smile, and fell sideways, his head landing in Azira's lap.

“Is this...?” He hissed.

Azira huffed a laugh, and ran a hand through Crowley's bright red hair, scratching at his scalp. Crowley moaned in approval, pressing back into the wandering fingers.

“How are you so good at that?” He murmured.

“It's not terribly difficult,” Azira teased.

“No, no, no, no. You. You are very talented. Your fingers should be made into a national treasure. You should teach classes in seduction.”

“Seduction?” Azira's fingers rubbed at his temples and up behind his ears. Crowley stretched happily.

“Oh yeah. Definitely. Definitely a seductress is what you are.”

“A bit prudish for a seductress.”

“No, there's nothing wrong with having boundaries, angel. Anyone who says otherwise should be kicked in the jewels and left to cry in the dirt.”

One of Azira's hands remained in Crowley's hair, while the other drifted down to brush against his cheek, and follow the line of his jaw. Crowley tilted his head back, encouraging Azira's fingers to drift down his throat. Azira's fingers reached his collar and stopped, resting against the delicate skin he found there. Crowley sighed happily and turned his face to press against the swell of Azira's belly. Azira felt self conscious for a moment, but Crowley seemed perfectly content, and after a moment or two he relaxed.

He wasn't sure how much time passed with him carding through the bright red locks, pressing against the warm soft skin. Crowley's expression was calm and lax, his breath warm against Azira's stomach. With his glasses still firmly in place, he couldn't tell if the young man was asleep, but he knew the glasses couldn't be comfortable cutting into his nose. He carefully disengaged his hands and gently took hold of the frames, doing his best not to touch the wrapped around lenses. Crowley's hand moved lighting fast, gripping his wrist tightly. “Wait.”

Azira immediately stopped. “Yes, dearest?”

“I wouldn't... you shouldn't...”

“I'm sorry, I just wasn't sure if you would be comfortable sleeping like this.”

“It's not that...” Crowley huffed softly. He growled, annoyed with himself. After a few moments of angry indecision, and pulled his glasses off.

Azira gasped softly, and Crowley hurried shoved his glasses back on, moving to sit up. Azira caught his shoulders and guided him back. Once settled he carefully pulled Crowley's glasses off and set them on the table. Crowley looked up at him with bright, golden eyes.

“Your eyes are so beautiful.”

“Reptilian more like.”

“No, gorgeous.” Azira ran a hand down Crowley's face, staring into his face wonderingly.

Crowley felt uncomfortable at the attention and squirmed under his touch. Finally he growled, gripped Azira firmly by the collar and tugged him into a hard kiss. Then he flopped back and turned, burring his face in Azira's stomach with a muffled finality. Azira chuckled softly, and let him be. He went back to petting through his hair, and picked up the book beside them. He read until late in the night, and eventually fell asleep, unwilling to disturb Crowley for something as inconsequential as going to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Azira woke to the sun filtering through a high window. Distantly he heard a clatter, but his sleep hazed mind paid it no heed. He'd been having the most wonderful dream. He'd been lying warm and pliant beneath Crowley's lanky form, their legs tangled together, every inch of their bodies pressed tightly together. He hummed contentedly, never wanting the dream to end.

Another clatter, slightly louder, and soft singing accompanying it. Then the most delicious smell.

His eyes snapped open. He was lying on the couch in the backroom. At some point his vest had been unbuttoned, a light blanket tossed over him, and a pillow placed beneath his head. He sat up slowly, putting his clothing to rights. It sounded like the singing was coming from the apartments above. He made his way up the stairs, and paused outside the kitchen.

Crowley stood in the morning sun, his hips swaying tantalizingly as he flipped pancakes in a skillet Azira didn't remember owning. In fact, he didn't remember there being any food in the fridge. He loved food, but he never had the urge to cook when it was only for himself. But now he could see flour on the counter, along with a container of eggs. Fresh strawberries sat beside whipped cream and syrup, and he could smell the sizzle of bacon. His mouth watered.

Crowley glanced behind him. He'd discarded his suit coat and stood in his shirt, the top half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His glasses were no where to be seen. He winked at Azira's stunned expression. “Good morning, angel.”

“Where... did all this food come from?”

“You know, there are these amazing new places called grocery stores. They are just packed with food, and you can go in and pick any of over a hundred items, for relatively good prices.”

Azira shook his head. “Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.”

“Just a little. Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes, if you'd like to have a seat.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Azira hurried to a cabinet and grabbed plates and silverware and set the nearby table. Crowley appeared behind him, kissed his neck, and placed a small vase with a small collection of fresh flowers in the center of the table. By the time Azira turned to return the gesture, Crowley was back at the oven, moving perfectly cooked bacon to a small serving dish he'd found in the far back of a rarely used pantry.

“Sit, angel.”

“No, I'm meant to be the host. You sit, please. I'll serve.”

“Angel, angel...” Crowley turned off the oven and strolled over to the table. “If you don't listen to me, I'm going to have to make you...”

“Make me?”

Crowley's grin was vicious, his eyes full of promise.

“Crowley?”

“Come here,” he purred.

Azira's breath caught as Crowley's mouth found his. His hands wrapped around Azira's waist, and pulled him onto his toes, putting him ever so slightly off balance. Then a quick tip, and Azira found himself sprawled haphazardly in one of the chairs around the table. “Now that's just playing dirty.”

Crowley smiled, his eyes bright. Azira couldn't look away. His face was so much more open with them on display. It was so easy to see just how much the other man cared for him. It made him feel elated.

Still singing softly, Crowley stole Azira's plate, and returned it piled high with food. His own plate had a few morsels, but nothing like what he'd placed in front of Azira.

“Why aren't you eating?” Azira asked.

“Huh? But I am...” To prove his point he brought a bite of food to his mouth.

Azira frowned at him, but was soon distracted by his own plate, and the delicious food that had been so lovingly prepared for him. If he took extra time to feed Crowley something from his plate every few minutes, the other man didn't comment, or refuse him. He ate everything offered.

“Do you have any classes today?” Azira asked.

“Angel, it's Saturday.”

“Right.” Azira did his best to hide his fidgeting fingers and quietly wondered how clingy he was coming off. “Did you need to get back today?”

“I'm sure my plants would like some attention, but I was thinking we'd take a walk around St. James'. Maybe feed the ducks?” He winked. If Azira thought his sharp face was devastating with his glasses on, they were deadly with them off. Crowley grinned slow and purposefully, completely aware of the effect he was having. “My plants can handle themselves for one day.”

The day was warm, and the park was filled with families enjoying the weather. Crowley bought them both ice cream, and then captured his hand as they strolled around the lake.

“You know, I don't usually go running off with random strangers I meet.” Azira mused.

“Well, I should hope not. You could get yourself in a lot of trouble that way. As long as you don't invite them back to a secluded place – like your office – I think you should be safe.”

“Well, the same goes for you, dear. If any random person tries to steal you away from your greenhouse you should be sure to stay on your guard. Don't follow him _into_ a secluded place. You never know what might happen.”

“I don't know, I like to live a bit dangerously.” Crowley squeezed his hand.

“Dangerous, eh? What's the most dangerous thing you've ever done?”

“Well, that's a long list. I suppose most recently I... blew out every fuse box on campus at the same time.”

“You did not!”

Crowley giggled. “Yes.”

“How would you even... I need details. What happened.”

“Well, I was teaching an intro to astronomy course –”

“– I never took you for an astronomy teacher –”

“It was just an intro course, angel, and I found out that a meteor shower was going to be visible from campus. Well, we could hardly miss that.”

“I take it your Dean didn't like the idea?”

“Eh, Lucy doesn't care what you get up to. I mean, yeah, he's terrifying, but as long as you keep away from him, he tends to forget you exist. He's more worried about the _other_ Dean's more than us lowly imps.”   
  


“Sometimes I wish Gabriel was like that. It would be nice to be forgotten about...”

“Yeah, he does sound like a right twat.”

Azira laughed. “If he heard you say that...”

“Let him. He sounds like he needs someone to kick his ass. How did he even get to be in charge of your department? He sounds like a nightmare.”

“I mean, technically he isn't. Michael is my direct supervisor, but she delegates a lot of the work to several of the other professors. They like to be called Archangels. She doesn't want to deal with people like me.”

“People like you? Do you really think that? Because, angel, you're wonderful.”

“I'm not, really. I mean, Gabriel says I'm one of the worst –”

“Did I not just say that Gabriel can go fuck himself? There's no way you're anything but perfect. I bet your students love you.”

Aziraphale thought of Anathema, and Adam. He shook his head. “We're getting off track. Back to your scoundrel ways.”

“There's not much else to tell. I pulled a few strings with some technically inclined individuals... I told them what I wanted to accomplish, and they made it happen.”

“Other professors helped?”

“Oh, no. They were students.”

“Students? You bribed students?”

“Don't sound so impressed.”

“What did you even bribe them with? Were they in your classes?”

“No, no, I'd never met them before. They were just little hellspawn looking to wreak havoc. All I had to do was make sure they didn't get caught, the rest was just them having fun. Students can be _so _motivated when they want to be.” Crowley cackled evilly.

“So what happened?”

“First there was a bit of scouting. I found the highest point on campus –”

“– the clock tower?”

“Correction, I found the highest point I had the keys to, and I herded the kids up there. Some of them were worried about getting in trouble, but I reasoned if they were with a teacher, how much trouble could they realistically get into?”

“A sound argument.”

“Exactly what I said. I got the supplies they needed, and had my minions time it down to the minute. Then maybe three minutes until the show was set to begin, _bang_, the lights cut out. Suddenly we've got the best seats in town. And we didn't get caught... Then. But true to my word, my conspirators remain anonymous to this day. Beelzebub doesn't believe for a second that I pulled it off alone, but it can't be proven either way, so it's a win.”

“Beelzebub? Is there really someone named that on staff?”

“No, their name is... Anna? Martin? Maybe? I don't remember. But they specialize in entomology, particularly flies, so people started calling them Lord of Flies, and knowing our beloved students the way I'm sure you do, that soon became Beelzebub. They act annoyed, but... I think they rather like the name. Because if they wanted it to stop, believe me, it would stop.”

Their walk brought them to a secluded alcove. Crowley pulled a bag from a pocket and passed it to Azira.

  
“Bird seed?”

“Bread isn't so good for ducks. Found that out the hard way.”

“The hard way?”

“These bastards Hastur and Ligur. They teach animal biology – admittedly they tend to focus on lacertilia and amphibians, but they usually get forced to teach the underclassman so they study it all. They are the worst. So old fashioned. Anyway, they found some bread in my office and we had a huge fight. I barely escaped with my life.”

“With your life?” Azira teased, tossing seed to the rapidly gathering water fowl.

Crowley cooed at them and tossed some seed as well. The ducks pecked at what he through, but soon they were swarming Azira, quacking insistently.

“Little monsters. They're testing you for weakness, angel. Be strong!”

\-------

Anathema sighed, and sank into a well cushioned chair in the student lounge. Before she even had the smallest chance to unwind, she was joined by a group of underclassman she had randomly happened to befriend.

Newt was the closest to her in age. He majored in Computer Sciences, even though he was terrible at it, and probably would be working on his Masters as well if he didn't have to keep retaking classes. He was cute in a nerdy way, and fun to talk to. He looked at her like she was the most interesting person he knew, and it was a heady feeling. Unfortunately he seemed to have very little experience in anything beyond flirting, so she continually found herself leading the romantic side of their relationship, but then, this was the 21st Century, and there was no shame in a woman taking charge.   
  
He smiled and passed her a sandwich from the cafeteria. That was another great thing about Newt. He always made sure she ate, which was good since she spent so much of her time absorbed in other things.   
  
"Alright, now that we're all here the meeting can begin," Adam said.   
  
"Meeting?" Anathema cast a confused look over Adam's gang, the notorious _Them _as they flopped into chairs around her. "What about?"   
  
"Professor Fell, who else?" Adam said.  
  
"I think I'm missing something..."

The Them sighed at her ignorance.   
  
Newt shrugged, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. "No clue. Who is Professor Fell?"

“Seriously?” Anathema asked. “I'm his teaching assistant. I talk about him all the time!”

“O-oh... right. Professor Fell. What does he teach again?”

Anathema sighed. “Why are we meeting, Adam?”

“I think Professor Fell is lonely.”

Anathema sighed again. “Dare I ask why you care about your _teacher's_ love life?”

“You're around him more than anyone, why don't you care?” Brian asked.

“Because I'm not a snoop.” Anathema said. “He's an adult, if he wants to be in a relationship I'm sure he would be.”

“I'm not so sure,” Adam said. “He spends all of his time in his office, and the other professor's in the English department are just awful.”

“They mean well,” Wensleydale said uncertainly.

“No they don't,” Pepper said. “I had to retake LGBT Literature thanks to Professor Michael. She spent so much time focusing on character studies and plot points of four really specific books, and then there were only two major assignments that focused on completely different works, and were overly interested into the specific grammatical details of the writing rather than the content.”

“Well, I mean, shouldn't an English class care about that stuff?” Newt asked slowly, sure he was missing the point.

“Well, yeah, in general terms. But she never tried to teach us that stuff. She specifically went out to fail us. She tested on things that were never covered in class. _That's_ screwed up.”

“Professor Fell would never do something like that,” Brian said. “He works hard to make sure everyone in the class is learning and understanding the material. He actually cares about what he teaches.”

“And he's so smart,” Wensleydale said admiringly. “I've never been able to stump him on a question.”

“The point is that he doesn't deserve to be lonely.” Adam said. “But he's too absorbed in his books to make a move himself. So we need to help...”  
  


“If only we knew what kind of men he was interested in,” Brian said.

“Who says he's gay?” Anathema asked.

“Why are we even speculating on his sexuality?” Pepper asked. “That seems in appropriate and invasive.”

“You're talking about setting him up with someone, but speculating on who is too much?” Anathema raised an eyebrow in challenge. It did nothing to cool Pepper's burning glare.

“All I'm saying is stereotypes are harmful.” Pepper ground out.

“I love Professor Fell,” Anathema growled. “I know more about him than anyone here. I'd never do something harmful to him.”

“Hold on. Professor Fell. Super blond? And he's the one who always wears that really old style, right? The one who looks like he stepped out of early 1900s France?” Newt asked.

Anathema didn't even know where to begin with that. She rubbed her temple, trying to will away the headache. “Yeah, that pretty much sums him up.”

“I saw him with some guy the other day.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly everyone was focused on him, and Newt felt himself wilt. Anathema reached out to take his hand and steady him. “Who was it?”

“I don't know! Some guy all in black! I think they were coming out of a greenhouse!”

“Science department then.” Wensleydale said.

Adam grinned fiercely at his gang. “Time to do some investigating.”

\-------

Azira was practically floating when he arrived on campus. Students smiled and waved as he passed. Normally he was blind to it, but after spending so much time with Crowley he was finally noticing all the familiar faces from his classes, and far from ignoring him or resenting him for being boring, most seemed pleased to see him. It put an extra spring in his step to know with certainty that Crowley was right and Gabriel was a bastard.

He barely noticed the trek up to his office, and unlocked the door with a flourish. Inside the sun was giving a bright glow to the frosted window, his Azalea no longer looked to be on the verge of death, and the Boston fern added a wonderful splash of life amongst the books.

“Good morning, Vivian! You're looking so lovely today.” He brushed a finger along her leaves and envisioned her preening happily. “Rather rude of me to only greet you though.” He looked thoughtfully at the Azalea. “How about... Edward. Good morning, Edward. Your flowers are marvelous! I'm sorry I almost killed you, I hope we can be friends!” He cautiously felt the soil in her pot. Crowley had mentioned she liked to have moist soil so... “Should have brought a squirt bottle of some kind...”

“What are those doing here?”

Azira tensed.

“Trash, clearly. But it's to be expected. A simpleton like you couldn't possibly be relied upon to keep even something as simple as a plant alive.”

“I think these plants look quite lovely, thank you.” Azira said coldly.

Gabriel chuckled. “You should get a cactus. They're all you're suited for.” He walked around Azira's desk, and sprawled in the worn leather chair. He kicked his feet up onto the surface, uncaring of the dirty smudges on student essays, and just barely not kicking the Azalea off in the process. Azira lunged forward, grabbing the plant and clutching it to his chest.

Gabriel laughed mockingly. “How cute. Figures you'd bond with something inanimate. It's probably the only thing that can stand to be around you.”

Normally this might have cut Azira to the quick, but today it was as though a curtain had been lifted and he could see Gabriel for the petty individual he was.

Gabriel frowned. He'd been expecting a certain reaction, but for some reason Azira was playing to his tune today. Just when Azira began to wonder how much time had to pass before he could politely ask Gabriel to leave, the man tossed a manila envelope onto the desk. “Michael has a problem, Mr. Fell. And when Michael has a problem, I have a problem.”

Azira's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Don't tell me you don't even know what I'm talking about,” Gabriel said condescendingly. “Too many students are passing your classes. We've talked about this.”

“I thought our job was to educate students, help them learn. If they do the work they should be able to pass the test. Isn't that the point?”

“No. A university's value is determined by how many students _fail_. If everyone passes, then clearly the material is too easy. You aren't living up to this departments standards.”

“So you _want _them to fail?” Azira asked incredulously.

“I want you to stop making such simple tests just to pad your reviews.”

“I have never made a simple test. I have never _cheated_ to improve scores. I give my students the tools they need to critically analyze the literature, and I teach them how to write essays that frequently win prizes on a national level. Every student earns every grade, and I am proud of them!” Azira was shouting by the end. By Gabriel's expression, his outburst was not appreciated.

Gabriel slowly stood, his clenched fists pressed into the woodwork. “If one or two students make it through, we've got an exciting, exclusive, and challenging program. If everyone passes, what's the point? I've reviewed some of your lessons, and lucky you, I've found the problem. You need to cut down your test to two or three questions, and make the criteria for a correct answer a lot more specific, and punish any variant.”

“That's not a good way to learn.” Azira paused for a moment, surprised at his boldness. “We should be fostering creativity, teach them to think and judge for themselves, teach them the meaning behind literature, or facts, or anything really! Not just how to precisely answer a test question. We need to help them become the powerhouses they can be, and give them the skills and knowledge that will aid them for the rest of their lives!”

“Listen to me carefully. This is very simple, Mr. Fell. Fail them, or there will be consequences.” Azira stared daggers, but Gabriel just laughed and walked out the door with a jaunty wave. “Give the test on Friday. You are expected to fail at least 60%. This will be the first of many, we've got a lot of catching up to do!”

Azira stood staring at the door long after Gabriel left, his wonderful morning thoroughly dashed. He was jerked out of his reprieve by a alarm going off on his desk. His 14th Century Literature class was going to start in ten minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. His weekend with the angel was... there were no words. He'd never felt so thoroughly accepted. Azira had even seen him without his signature glasses, and hadn't run screaming. He did his best not to skip just thinking about tonight. He planned to kidnap Azira again, maybe have a picnic by moonlight.

He stopped by his office briefly, and managed to get in and out without running into anyone in his department. The loathing he felt with literally everyone in the building was very mutual, and he didn't want to loose his euphoria so early in the day. His next stop was the greenhouse – the only place he felt really at home on campus. His plants so normally used to his wrath were stunned by his chipper whistling.

He watered, fed, measured, and inspected every plant, and for once didn't feel like screaming at them. An hour or so later he put away his spray bottle and headed to his first class – plant biology.

He was first to the lecture hall, and took his time setting out the materials he'd need. As the students filled in he could swear there were faces he didn't recognize in the audience. Once the lecture started they didn't even bother to take notes, instead choosing to stare him intently the whole time. He didn't particularly care, he figured they were just waiting until the end of the lesson to ask some question, but when the lecture ended they ducked out before he could approach them. Oh well, a question for another day.

“Well that was awful.”

Crowley looked up. Hastur was making his way down the sloped stairs to the lectern. Crowley inwardly groaned and wondered if it would look weird for him to take off running. Maybe if he shouted _Hey! Wait! Your paper!_ and took off, he could still get out of this.

“Crowley!” The dead eyed professor of called. “You were missed at the _mandatory_ staff meeting.”

“Ah, yes, that. Well. I submitted my student evaluations and grades to Beelzebub and Lucy. They seem satisfied or I imagine they'd be here instead of you. Now if you don't mind, I have more classes to prepare for.” Crowley grabbed his briefcase and tried to make for the side exit.

“What classes?” Ligur asked, stepping through Crowley's last hope. He held a large bucket in one hand, filled with a dark liquid that seemed to be boiling. “We checked your schedule, Crowley, you don't have any more classes today. And yet, you never seem to be in your office.”

_Yeah_, Crowley thought. _That's the reason I'm never there._ “So why have you fine gentlemen been looking for me?”

“Why?” Hastur asked. He stepped over to a board Crowley had decorated with various snakes and slowly pushed it over. “I think you know why.”

Crowley groaned. “Tell me this is not about the bread! I said I wouldn't feed ducks bread any more! What is your problem!”

“Oh, we don't care about the ducks. We care about what you _did_.”

“You threw bread in my face,” Hastur growled. “How dare you.”

“You had me backed into a corner! You said you were going to beat me to a pulp! What did you expect?”

“For you to take your beating.”

“Yeah, that's not in my job description,” Crowley said. He had a clear shot at a door, he could still make it! He just needed an opening...

“Ha. _Your_ job description.” Hastur and Ligur looked at each other and laughed.

Crowley stopped, escape momentarily banished from his mind. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Crowley,” Hastur grinned. “We all know the only reason your students like you is because you're fucking so many of them.”

“You are a slut,” Ligur said, “and everyone knows it.”

“Wha – how – I don't...” Crowley shook his head. “How could you possibly think that? Has the water around here been laced with a hallucinogen or something? That would explain a lot actually.”

“How? What a laugh. It's obvious.” Hastur and Ligur exchanged an amused glance.

Crowley frowned at them. “Not really.”

“The way you walk. What even is that hip thing you're doing?” Hastur said.

“And that fake smile. Lewd.” Ligur added.

“Don't even get us started on how you dress.”

Crowley looked down on, what he thought, was a tasteful ensemble. Not too tailored, but still sharp. It wasn't the most modern look, he'd grant, but it was by no means threadbare. He quite liked the way he looked. “What's wrong with this?”

“Look at you,” Hastur sneered. “Wearing trousers that tight.”

“And your shirt looks like it's about to fall open.” Ligur added.

“You look like a slut.”

“Like you just got done with someone, in fact. Slut.”

Crowley could feel the anger rising, and from the smirk the two bastards were wearing, he was sure that was what they were going for. “Go fuck yourselves.”

“Are you propositioning us?” Ligur had the audacity to look offended.

“I wouldn't put it past him.” Hastur said, disgusted.

“Go to Hell.” Crowley growled.

He was done. Hastur had moved to once again block the door, but Crowley was done trying to dance past them. He shoved past Hastur, deliberately knocking his shoulder as hard as he could. As though he'd been waiting for it, Ligur was suddenly in front of him, dumping the bucket over his head. He gasped as water filled with something wriggling soaked him to the bone. A quick glance identified frogs. Live ones. Some still clinging to him, most hopping away fast. He felt disgust rise high in his throat. Hastur and Ligur roared with laughter, as Crowley tried and failed not to run out the door.

He drew many looks as he stormed out of the Natural Sciences building, leaving puddles in his wake. He wasn't sure where he was heading, but he was unsurprised when his feet took him to the greenhouse.

He threw the door open and slammed it behind him, the glass rattled in its frame.

Still seeing red he grabbed his pruning sheers, and aggressively went after his plants. “Fucking. Bastards. Fucking, _fuckers_.”

Panting, he stood in the destruction around him. His temper still hadn't abated, but it had cooled somewhat. “_Fucking slut._” He bared his teeth at a a group of impatiens. “You call that a flower? The color is pathetic! You're not even trying!” They shook in terror, particularly the Kashmir Balsam he loomed over, sheers at the ready.

Crowley dropped them, hissing softly. He wasn't sure why this wasn't working, and it was making him all the more frustrated. He snatched the plant up, and grabbed a bright green spray bottle along with a few other essentials. “Grow. Better!” He shouted at his plants, before once again rattling the glass door as he slammed it behind him.

The English department wasn't difficult to find, even if he'd only been there once. The stairs up to Azira's Satan be damned floor did nothing to help his mood especially combined with his squeaky footsteps, and the locked door he found had him seething. Luckily lock picks were one of his essentials.

Inside, Azira's office was... different. He wasn't sure if it was the over abundance of books, or the mismatched bookcases, but the atmosphere was very calming. He glanced down at the Kashmir Balsam for the first time since arriving. “Ah. Yes. You.” To be honest, he wasn't sure if this plant would survive, let alone thrive, indoors. But he also did not care even a little. He shoved it near a window.

He stalked towards the Boston Fern. She looked better, clearly valuing her life. He added some water to her pot, and misted lightly. He briefly wondered if Azira would let him put a humidifier in the room, but considering the literature, it was doubtful. Next he checked the Azalea. She still wasn't dead, so that was a plus. The flowers looked a tad more vibrant... Still, if she were his plant, he'd drop her in a river and be done with it. But she was Azira's, and for some reason it felt wrong to do anything cruel to her. He carefully checked her soil and frowned at the slight dryness. He watered heavily, and considered going back to his greenhouse to get a bucket of water to dunk her in. “Bet _you_ wish you were me.”

Unfortunately with the plants taken care of he had nothing else to occupy his time. He grabbed a book off a random shelf and ruffled through the pages, but he couldn't focus. Instead he replayed his fight with Hastur and Ligur. He began to pace, tugging at his clothes that were clinging too close, the dampness making him too cold, his feet pruning in his shoes. Rage clawed at his throat. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to destroy something. His hands clenched in his hair as he paced in tighter and tighter circles.

“Dearest?”

Crowley's head jerked up, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. Somehow in all of this he'd forgotten Azira might actually show up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No!” Crowley bit out. He was horrified with himself for speaking to Azira of all people in that tone, and pulled aggressively at his hair again, resuming his pacing.

Azira watched him with wide eyes.

“Is there something wrong with how I'm dressed?” Crowley stopped and spread his arms wide, turning in a slow circle to make sure Azira saw the full outfit.

“Um... no?”

“Are you sure? Are you sure I'm not...” Crowley grabbed his jacket and tugged on it, huffing angrily.

“Please, Crowley, what's wrong?”

Crowley considered not answering, but the answer forced itself out. “It's been said that I... That I may be... Azira, I'm not fucking my students!”

“Of course you're not... did someone say you were?” Azira frowned. “Who said this?”

Crowley couldn't bear to look at Azira any longer. The only reason anyone ever liked him was because he was cool. He tried so hard to build the image, and here he was, sopping wet, needlessly upset over something stupid, looking like a fool in front of his angel. He threw himself onto the couch, and tucked himself tightly against the cushions. “Whatever. It doesn't matter.”

He flinched as the cushions dipped. Azira sat next to him, carefully carding a hand through his hair. He nudged at Crowley's chin until enough space opened for him to remove the sunglasses from Crowley's face. Crowley's golden eyes flashed at him for a moment before he turned away, glaring balefully at the green cushions.

“Of course it matters. You've every right to be angry. Who said this? What happened?”

“Just some dicks. It's fine, I'm over it. Clearly.”

Azira looked doubtful, but he didn't want to push too hard. After a moment he placed a hand on Crowley's arm and rolled the other toward him. “Come home with me?”

Gold eyes looked at him curiously, but for the first time since entering the room Azira felt Crowley's mood begin to lighten. Azira smiled encouraging and stood, offering his hand. After a brief pause Crowley took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Azira twined their fingers, and carefully locked the door on their way out.

“Why do you always lock your office?”

“You don't?”

Crowley shrugged and tried to tuck a hand into his trousers. He flinched at the cold and tried to shake the feeling off his hand. “Ugh. Seriously, those _bastards_.”

“Who was it?”

Crowley sighed. He was so persistent. “Hastur and Ligur. Payback for the last time they attacked me.”

“How can they pay you back if they attacked you?”

“They're bullies, they never see it that way. Even if they start it, if I fight back, I'm the one who needs to be gotten back.”

“And your Dean just... allows that?”

“Your department is cold, airy, and boring. My department is dark, dank, and terrible. We can't win, angel. Everything is awful.” He laughed at himself, and felt like dying. Here he was, trying to impress this man, and he kept saying the worst things.

Oddly though, Azira just squeezed his hand, and looked at him with something he couldn't identify. “Not everything. Not you.”

Crowley sighed bitterly. “Especially me, angel.”

“You are amazing, Crowley.”

“No, you just don't know any better – Wait, where are we going? The Bentley's over there...”

Azira frowned, but Crowley was nervously looking any where else, so he put the thought aside for the moment. “I thought we'd take a cab today.”

Crowley's head cocked in a clear question, but the cold squelch of his socks answered it. If he was upset now, he'd be even more so after getting his seats wet. He laughed a bit brighter and smiled at Azira. His angel answered it, and hailed the cab.

Inside the cab was nothing special, but Crowley still sat anxiously on the very edge of his seat, doing his best to get water on as little as possible. It wasn't his car, but it was the principle of the thing. The longer he sat, the more uncomfortable he became. He was more and more aware of the cold cling of his clothing, and started to shiver.

Azira shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley began to protest, but Azira seemed oblivious, smiling serenely out the window. Crowley hesitated, and then pulled the coat a bit tighter around him.

The drive to the bookshop was not long. Crowley said a quiet prayer of thanks to any deity that could hear it, and leapt out of the car the moment it pulled up to the curb. Azira laughed softly and followed a bit slower, being sure to pay the driver well on the way.

Crowley waited impatiently by the door, and slipped in as soon as it was open wide enough, disappearing upstairs. Azira paused for a moment with his books, just taking a moment to breathe and center himself. He was not about to let Gabriel ruin his day any further.

He found Crowley upstairs pacing nervously in the kitchen. Noticing Azira, he slowed to a stop.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Strip?”

Crowley's brain short circuited. “W... what?”

“Strip.”

Azira had the audacity to _wink_ at him, and Crowley thought he'd die if he blushed any harder. Then without a word Azira left, and Crowley frantically tore at his clothing, shivering harder as each inch of his skin was exposed. Once it was all off though, he was at a loss for what to do it them.

Before he could make up his mind, Azira was back, draping the ugliest blanket Crowley had ever seen around his shoulders. It also happened to be the the softest thing Crowley had ever touched. Azira pulled the wet clothing from Crowley's unresisting hands and disappeared again.

This time Crowley padded after him, a bit confused that Azira was walking away from the dryer. Azira led them to a cozy living room where he'd set up a drying rack near a radiator. He carefully hung each item, humming softly.

“Probably could have just tossed them into the machine,” Crowley said, a bit uncomfortable at the work he was putting Azira through.

“Nonsense, I might ruin them. I was going to wash them by hand, but I was a tad worried I'd mess something up. This is safer all around. I think we will eventually need to get this dry cleaned,” he looked at Crowley with a pleased smile, “One thing at a time though.”

Crowley felt his face heat as he pulled the blanket tighter about him. He felt so.. cared for. It felt unusual. Uncomfortable. Like his skin was too tight. “We really don't need to go through all this trouble. I can just take care of it when I get home.”

“I'd be a terrible host to let you remain in wet clothes until then. Would you like to try something of mine on? It'll be far too large, but it'll do in the short term.”

Crowley imagined himself in Azira's soft clothing, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and found himself shaking his head desperately. It wasn't that the thought was unappealing. It was too appealing. There was no way he'd maintain his cool, suave appearance if he indulged in this, and there was no way he was going to lose Azira by over reaching. They'd only known each other for a short amount of time, but already he couldn't imagine life without him.

Azira looked disappointed, and Crowley felt guilty about that, but there was no way for him to explain himself without giving too much away. Instead he struck a pose he'd dubbed as “Too Hot to Handle,” and grinned lecherously. “You'd cover this up? Angel, I'm hurt.”

Azira studied him, his face unreadable. He stalked forward, Crowley was so surprised he found himself stumbling back. Azira caught up to him before he got far, and tugged him forward. Crowley's arms automatically wrapped around his neck, engulfing Azira with him inside the comfortable warmth of the blanket. Azira's hands lightly skated down, to rest on his hips.

Crowley felt like he was in a dream. Was this really happening? Azira stepped closer, tipping up, breath ghosting over Crowley's chin before closing the distance between them.

The kiss finally blanked Crowley's mind. There was nothing but Azira's lips, the press of him so firm against him.

His hands drifted up, crushing silky fine hair between his fingers, pulling nearer, needing Azira as close as he could be. The blanket fell unheeded to the ground.

Azira broke away, and Crowley whined at the loss. Azira chuckled lightly, and pressed a kiss to his chin, down the column of his throat, down his chest, slowly dropping to his knees.

Okay, this had to be a dream, there was no way...

Azira gripped the base of his cock lightly, and Crowley wasn't sure if he'd ever been so erect in his life. Azira gave him a knowing look, and licked up the full length, paying special attention to the head before swallowing down to the root. Crowley cried out, his knees buckling.

Azira worshiped him. He treated his cock like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever sampled, like he had all the time in the world. Had he thought Azira was going to be inexperienced at this? The man was masterful.

Too masterful, in fact. He tried to give Azira warning, but found himself tipped over the edge faster than he thought possible. He hoped not embarrassingly so, but if Azira minded he made no indication. If anything, Azira seemed smugly satisfied.

Crowley felt euphoric. Like he was floating on clouds, so warm and safe. He swayed slightly, and knew he wasn't going to be able to keep his feet much longer. He could find a chair, maybe even a sofa, or he could search out Azira's bed... but Azira seemed perfectly content where he was, and Crowley was not about to leave him. He sank to his knees and pressed forward, Azira didn't give him any quarter, and ended up on his back, beneath a very pleased Crowley.

“Naughty angel,” he purred. “Did you plan that?”

Azira face was the picture of innocence. “I've no idea what you mean, darling.”

Crowley chuckled, and pressed back ever so slightly onto Azira's pressing interest. “Are you sure? No idea at all?”

Azira bit back a groan. “That's not playing fair.”

“Not playing fair?” Crowley brought a hand between them, freeing Azira from the tight confines of his trousers. “I'll show you not playing fair.”

Azira gasped, and his hands scrambled for purchase, eventually settling on Crowley's thighs, his hands warm against Crowley's cooling skin. “You – don't have to.”

Crowley stilled, but didn't remove himself. “I know I don't _have_ to. I want to. But if you don't want me too...” he squeezed, “...but I think you do. Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no.”

“That's my good boy.” Crowley took his time learning all of Azira's reactions, what he liked, what made him arch his back, what made him cry out and pant Crowley's name. “So beautiful.” he said.

Azira might have corrected him if he could find any words. Crowley smirked as if he knew the protest forming.

“You are. You are so fucking beautiful. Even as clothed as you are right now, I can't take my eyes off you. Next time though. Next time I'm peeling you out of your suit, every single one of your layers, until you're bare to the world.” Crowley kissed up Azira's throat and bit at his ear. “I'll take you apart nice and slow, until you're writhing with desire, until you're _begging_ for my cock.”

Azira whined, his hips bucking into Crowley's fist.

“Oh yes, I know love, I know,” Crowley crooned. “Come for me?”

Azira came with a cry, scratching lines down Crowley's back. Crowley caught what he could, and felt the smallest twinge of guilt at what he missed, but the sight of Azira in a come stained suit was a sight worth seeing. And now they both had some dry cleaning to do, which was worth it.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Crowley purred.

Azira chuckled nervously. He moved to sit up, and Crowley easily pushed him back down.

“And just where do you think you're going?”

“To get a cloth to clean up with?”

“Hmm. No.” Crowley brought up his hand and licked it clean. “You know,” he drawled, “trying to convince someone they aren't a slut usually isn't done by sleeping them.”

Azira's eyes slowly widened in horror.

Crowley held back for a moment before dissolving into giggles. “I'm just fucking with you.” He sighed, stretching languidly. “But I suppose we should get off the floor. We aren't teenagers, after all.”

“And I have wine downstairs...”

Crowley lifted his head, humor glinting in his golden eyes. “Downstairs it is then.”

As much as Crowley was perfectly fine remaining naked – Azira could barely take his eyes off of him after all – he was never the best at temperature regulation, and with the sun long since hidden he was quite cold. Though he was loathe to do it, he sat up shifted back and grabbed the blanket, wrapping it tightly around himself.

Crowley stood in one long, unfolding motion – the kind capable only by the very tall. He extended a hand to Azira. “Shall we?”

Azira allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, shifting forward once he was up to steal a kiss. Crowley made a noise of protest when he stepped away from the tempting warmth of the blanket and walked down a narrow hallway to his bedroom.

Azira was sure Crowley could wear almost anything of his, even it wouldn't fit in any way without a tight belt. Considering his reaction to the blanket, he had a feeling Crowley would prefer something soft. That contrasted sharply with the image Crowley had built so far, but Azira quite liked the thought of him that way. Unfortunately Azira didn't have much in the way of pajamas, as he very rarely slept like a normal person. He was far more used to staying up until he felt tired, which was rare, and often woke to find himself slumped over a desk, face pressed to whatever book he'd been reading. After this happened a few times he made sure never to read particularly rare books at night. At the moment he only owned two sets of pajamas. One was a tartan pattern that he loved and had never worn, and the other that was covered in fluffy white clouds, that he wasn't really sure how he'd ended up with. He was sure Crowley would hate them, or at least, would claim to. After a moments consideration he put the tartan ones back and changed into a new jumper, but otherwise kept his outfit the same. 

“Not what I was expecting.” Crowley stood in the doorway, studying the room. “I'm surprised at the lack of books.”

Azira scoffed. “Why would I have books in here? The lighting is terrible.”

“To read before you sleep?”

“I do read before I sleep.”

“So... you don't sleep here?”

“Not usually.”

“Where do you sleep?”

Azira shrugged. “Where ever. Downstairs usually.”

“On the couch?”

“At my desk, I suppose.”

“Right... That sounds good for your back.”

“My back is fine.”

“That's what everyone says. Until it isn't.”

“I happen to believe I'm training my body.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Azira said primly, with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Pain is a message to my body that it needs to do something different. I'm not going to change my habits around it. Either my body learns what to stop, or it suffers the consequences. If I give into it, then it'll just keep hurting.”

“Just to be clear, you're talking about your body... somehow independently... making logical decisions.”

Azira shrugged, and Crowley did his best not to laugh. Too loudly anyway.

“So you're basically torturing yourself, for no reason.”

“I don't see how that's too odd a thing to happen. The human body is full of surprises, after all.”

“Whatever you say, angel.”

“Here, I found these for you.” Azira handed him the blue pajama set. Trousers with a matching button down shirt.

“You're not serious.”

“My dear boy, I insist.”

“I think I'll just keep the blanket, thanks.”

“Nonsense! It's so bulky and unwieldy I'm sure you'd prefer a greater range of motion.”

“Then I'll just stay naked.”

“Come now, you'll freeze.”

“But think of the view.” Crowley leered.

“Just touch them!”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Azira's face fell into a pout, lips slightly puckered, quietly glaring at Crowley.

Crowley tried to protest, but the words wouldn't form. In the end he growled and snatched the clothing out of Azira's hands. Muttering curses he tugged them on, flat out refusing to admit they were ridiculously comfortable. “I believe you said something about wine?”

Azira beamed and lead the way downstairs, to the backroom of his bookshop. Crowley flopped gracelessly onto the worn couch. Once he was sure Azira wasn't looking he wrapped his arms around himself and cuddled into the fabric, loving the feeling of the soft cloth. He sat up abruptly when Azira appeared with the glasses and several bottles of wine.

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed. “So much wine!”

Azira chuckled and set out a bottle to breathe. After Crowley's prodding insistence, he opened a second as well. “Though I suppose we shouldn't be drinking this much without having eaten.”

Crowley, who was well used to missing a meal now and then, hesitated. “We could... order pizza?”

Azira looked at him as though he'd grown a second head.

“Or... not?”

“What about crepes? Are those deliverable?”

“Oh, angel. Anything can be delivered.”

Crowley pulled out a cell phone that was generations more advanced than anything Azira had ever owned, and his fingers flew across the screen. “Food will be along shortly! In the meantime, care to start drinking?”

Several bottles in, many stolen kisses, and soft touches later, Crowley could admit that he was well and truly drunk. The container their crepes had arrived in was picked clean, and a very content Azira was smiling in a dreamy fashion. Crowley was no longer even trying to sit up like a normal person, and was instead draped across Azira's lap, boneless, practically melted into place. This allowed Azira's hand to pet through his hair and scratch behind his ears, which was so deliciously perfect he couldn't have planned it better. He wasn't able to drink any more in this position, but that was alright. Any more and he'd fall asleep, and he didn't want that quite yet. As it was, he was warm and content.

He turned to nuzzle closer to Azira's stomach, nipping at fabric of his jumper. It made him a bit harder to understand, but he didn't particularly care. He knew Azira would hear him. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

“You're wearing clothes too.” Azira's sounded close to sleep, but his hands kept a constant pace in Crowley's hair.

“I mean, you're wearing a jumper. And slacks. Why are you wearing slacks? You should be wearing something... cuddly.”

“Am I not cuddly?”

“You are very cuddly.” Crowley slipped his hands up inside the jumper and pet at his skin. “But are you comfortable?”

“I've got you on my lap. Of course I'm comfortable. Are you? Is the fabric to scratchy?”

“If I say yes, will you take them off?”

“I might go get changed into something else.”

Crowley considered. It was a little challenging to keep his mind on point. It was more distracted by thoughts of Azira just taking his trousers off and returning to this position. The warm skin uncovered beneath his hand. Nails lightly scratching the newly exposed skin. His mind snagged on one point. “Does that mean you'd get up?”

“I suppose so.”

“Would you leave?”

“Only temporarily, my dear.”

“Fuck that. You're staying put.”

“Are you sure?”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Azira as tightly as he could to keep him in place. “Stay.”

Azira chuckled, but made no move to leave. After a few minutes Crowley relaxed, returning to his boneless state.

“Why... are we in the bookshop?” Crowley mused.

“Why not? Books are the best.”

“Perhaps, but why –”

“Perhaps nothing, they are –”

“But why are we drinking in one?”

“We aren't doing much drinking at the moment.”

“Drunk. Drank? Same thing.”

“I'm not very drunk though.”

“Yes you are. Of course you are. I can tell.”

Azira lifted his head to argue, but it was far too much work. It fell back with a soft thud. “Oh, well, alright then.”

“Don't change the subject.”

“Sorry, love. What was the subject?”

Crowley flushed at the endearment, but he didn't want to spoil it by pointing it out. The brief hesitation again sent his mind down all the wrong routes, and he struggled, trying to remember. “Ahh.... Bookshop. Yes, bookshop. Right. Why are we here?”

“Because I live here?”

“You live upstairs, don't you?”

“Well I mean, define live.”

“ 's a lot of definitions, though, right? I mean, we could go back to the dawn of time and talk about single celled organisms... or we could talk about _plants_ – that could be fun – or we could talk about the first men –”

“– come now –”

“Or Adam and Eve if you'd rather go the more religious route –”

“– Dearest –” Azira sighed.

“– But I think in this specific instance, I mean the _location_ you live.”

“I would define live as where I spend the majority of my time, and I spend most of that time down here, or in my office. Upstairs is so, well, dreary really. Down here is... is...”

“More you.”

“Well, yes, naturally.”

“We should get you more comfortable furniture then. If you're going to sleep down here, that is.”

Azira shrugged. Even now he wasn't that tired, but bringing up his appalling sleeping habits didn't seem like the right comment at the moment.

“I mean, this couch for example.”

“I love this couch!”

“Oh, angel.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No, no, no... no... maybe.”

“I've had this couch forever!”

“I believe it.”

Azira gazed it him with wide, sad eyes. Crowley could only take it for so long before he pet Azira's arm consolingly. “We'll get you a better couch.”

His face, if possible, crumpled further.

Crowley winced. “I mean... it's a great couch. The best.”

Azira snorted. “No, you're right. I shouldn't make you keep sleeping on it.”

“I am amazed your back can survive so much abuse.”

“You seem awfully concerned about my back.”

“I'm concerned about all of you, Azira.”

Azira smiled at him like he was the most darling thing he'd ever seen, and Crowley found himself squirming under the attention. Eventually he reached up and pressed his hand to Azira's face, physically turning his gaze away. Azira laughed, and licked his hand. Crowley cried out in surprise, and launched himself at Azira tickling where ever he could reach, delighting in making the other squirm. Being drunk didn't help matters much, and the quickly found themselves laughing helplessly in each others arms, gasping for air.

Crowley was content to spend the rest of his life this way, and curled up as much as possible against Azira's chest.

“Crowley...”

“Hm?”

“Cr-ow-ly.”

“Angel?”

“Why do you go by Crowley?”

“Cause it's my name?”

“Your name is Anthony though. Or Tony. Andy?”

“I prefer Crowley. It's more _me_.”

Azira had to concede the point. Crowley did suite him perfectly.

“Why do Hastur and Ligur pick on you?”

Crowley groaned. “Enough about my day. How was yours?”

Azira sighed. “Awful. But then, pretty much every day is.”

“Why?”

“I love my classes, and my students. I love the material. But I don't much care for my fellow educators.”

Crowley tensed. “They don't...”

“No one's physically attacked me, if that's what you mean. Hastur and Ligur sound terrible. They just... hate me. But they're not wrong. I am useless.”

“Who says you're useless?”

“Gabriel mostly.”

“Who's he?”

“My boss, technically. One of them anyway.”

“Azira... do I need to kill him?”

Azira laughed, but Crowley seemed serious – hurt even that Azira seemed amused. He pet Crowley's face, amazed anyone could care for him that much.

“No. I mean, he's right I guess. Maybe I am a terrible teacher.”

“That's stupid. You're obviously a great teacher.”

“You're biased.”

“I most certainly am not. Do you think I wouldn't look into who you are, Professor Fell? Those bastard bosses of yours give you the absolute shit classes, and stack them on top of you in impossible ways, hoping you'll fail, and instead your students love you, and honestly grasp the material. You even help students who are no longer in your classes!”

Azira looked at him, lost. “You looked into me?”

Crowley ducked his head, a bit sheepishly. “I mean... not a lot. But English is a required course for basically everyone at some point, so I may... or may not... have asked my students some questions. Just basic stuff though, certainly nothing that could be considered prying – and that is if I did it at all, I mean, I may not have asked anything either. It's a possibility.”

“A hypothetical.”

“Exactly right! A hypothetical!”

“So hypothetically, if you were going to act like a stalker and interrogate the student body, what would you ask?”

“Far too general a question, angel. I mean, hypothetically I could ask anything and nothing! Hypothetically I could ask them about how the universe was created, or speculate about the emergence of nihilism. I really can't narrow down the possibilities without more guidelines.”

“What if I hypothetically wasn't mad?”

“Well that changes things. In that case I would have grilled them for your likes and dislikes. Potentially even about who your friends are, who your graduate students are, what your office hours are... Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course.”

To Crowley's relief Azira honestly didn't look mad. Although that could be because he looked serene in his drunken state. Crowley would guess at this point Azira should be ready to fall asleep, but instead he seemed relatively alert, and the hands in his hair had yet to falter.

“Considering the information I may have gathered, I do have one question though...”

“Hm?”

“Why does Gabriel hate you so much?”

“Because I drag the department down, I suppose.”

Crowley stared at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

“That's what he says, in any case.”

“You don't... believe him, do you?”

“I mean, he does make good points.”

“Let's hear it.”

Azira sighed. “I am far too drunk for this conversation.”

“You said you weren't drunk.”

“You said I was.”

“So I guess the question is, which of us is the most trustworthy?”

“Loaded question.”

Crowley's grin was all teeth. “So tell me what Gabriel's' points are, and I'll forget all about it.”

“He says too many students are passing my classes. So either I'm deliberately making my classes too easy to pad my numbers, or I'm too stupid to make them any harder.”

“You can't possibly be taking him seriously.”

Azira sighed. “I don't want to, but...”

“No fucking buts, angel. He's wrong.”

“Either way, he says I need to fail over half of them on a new test he scheduled for Friday. ”

Crowley pondered in silence, wondering what he would do. “You're right.”

“I am?”

“We're too drunk for this conversation. What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I don't want to do it, but I've been given a direct order.” He groaned. “But my kids have worked so hard! They don't deserve to be needlessly punished! It isn't moral. It isn't ethical. It's the exact opposite of what we should strive for as educators! Gabriel says it's to make a more exclusive program, but how good can it be, if you're just deliberately failing people? That doesn't mean the curriculum is hard, it just means the system is rigged.”

“It's funny. Some professor's in my department feel the same. It's one of the reasons Hastur and Ligur hate me, you know. They're very old school. They think we should look to improve one student at a time, and that the rest are just background noise. I think we should do whatever we can to help people learn, spread the net as wide as possible. You, angel, you though. You're in such a hard spot. If I argue with my personal demons, it doesn't matter. They have no control over my classes. Beelzebub and Lucy don't seem to mind, so I'm free to do what I want. Oh, there's a point. What does Michael think about all this? She's above Gabriel, isn't she?”

Azira chuckled. “I'm too far down the social ladder for Michael's personal attention. Gabriel says he speaks for her.”

“He is _such_ a bastard, and not in the fun way.”

“There's a fun way to be a bastard?”

“Don't act so coy, my dear angel. You're a bit of a bastard yourself, you know. You'd be no fun otherwise.”

“I'm not so sure about that one,” Azira laughed.

Crowley laughed with him, pleased to see some of his sadness lifting. They gradually lapsed into silence. Azira looked at him as though he was the most precious thing in the universe - an expression he seemed to wear an awful lot - and Crowley couldn't help but reach up and trace the expression, doing his best to memorize every contour. “You know... we could just run away together.”

“Run away? To where?”

“Sure. To... Belgium! They have some amazing pastries you know.”

“But... I love England. I love my shop. I love my students. I don't want to leave just because of my problems with my department. I should be better than that. I'm just so... soft.”

“What's wrong with soft? If you ask me, soft is something to be proud of. It's so rare in this day and age to find anyone who shows genuine kindness. But you truly care about your students, and that's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I suppose...”

“Look, whatever you decide to do, I support you.”

Azira smiled crookedly. “You're so kind.”

“I'm not kind!”

“You are.”


	4. Chapter 4

Azira sat in front of his ancient computer. The test was ready to go. He hadn't intended to give one so soon, but that didn't mean he was unprepared.

His fingers hesitated over the keys as he fought with himself.

He thought the test was perfect as it was, but it wasn't what Gabriel had demanded. It followed the same general format as he other tests – roughly twenty multiple choice questions on key terms and grammar, several short questions on their most recent reading assignments, and then two essay questions on comprehension. It was a format that he felt covered all the material, and it helped him identify who needed more help.

There was nothing easy about the test. It was not the kind a student could easily bullshit, though some had tried. He did his best to ensure if a student hadn't done the reading there was no way they could hide it. He even made sure to check sites that summarized books to verify that while some of his classes could use it for clarity, no one could get away with using the site alone.

He always had a dozen or more students fail the first test, and as with any class, there were students who would fail others, but he worked hard to make sure that students who did the work, read the material, and paid attention in class had the tools to pass.

If he followed Gabriel's instructions, he'd scrap everything but the essay question, and those he'd need to make much more specific. No more interpretive answers, no more helping students identify and understand parts of themselves, as only good literature could do. He'd need to crush their souls, destroy their interest in the printed word, create a generation that hated reading.

But then... Gabriel had said nothing about how much impact this test had to have. It didn't have to be the same weight as a normal test, it could just be a... pop quiz of sorts. In that way he could obey the letter of the law if not the spirit. It sounded like something Crowley would appreciate.

His fingers alighted on the keys and pulled up a new document. As Gabriel requested, it would only be two questions. They would be long answer essay questions on the book they'd finished the week before. Gabriel said the questions needed to be vague, and they would, but at this point in the semester he knew his students, and he knew they'd rise to the challenge.

A smirk spread across his face as he devised the questions. Maybe Crowley was right. Maybe he was a bit of a bastard.

\------

The test came as a surprise. He felt even more guilty for it, but he didn't know how to justify his actions without telling them the truth. First thing Friday he took a deep breath, and walked into class. His normally cheerful students quieted at his expression.

“Test today,” Azira said. It was short and simple. He couldn't find the words to say any more. He carefully avoided Anathema's curious look, and passed out the papers.

The atmosphere was tense, silent except for the scratch of dozens of pencils.

Azira sat at his desk, shoulders hunched. He felt so tense, so nervous, but he knew if he showed his nerves it would just put more pressure on the students, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Halfway through he couldn't take it any more. He searched through his drawers and found a small bag of candy, and quietly handed them out.

Ten minutes left in the class and Adam stood up. He winked at Azira as he dropped his paper on the desk and walked out. As though he'd opened a dam, students began to flood forward, dropping their tests on top of Adam's. To Azira's surprise, they were all smiling, laughing. There was none of the hatred he'd been expecting. No one seemed near tears, or even particularly upset. It was just as though it was a normal day – some of them even nodded at him as they left.

Once he was alone he gathered up the tests and started to read through them, the smile on his face growing with each one.

In the end, no one failed. Azira had never been so proud.

\-------

The door to his office flew open, banging off the wall. Azira had been expecting something like this, and didn't flinch. He stood up and stepped around his desk, hands folded in front of him. “Good afternoon, Gabriel. What a pleasant surprise.”

“You didn't fail a single one!”

“I made the test you requested, exactly as you requested. Here, have a look.”

Gabriel snatched the paper from Azira's hands. “Describe the relationship between humanity and the heavenly host in Milton's _Paradise Lost_.” Gabriel blinked, his face incredulous. “You call this a proper question?”

Azira did his best not to smile. “Not at all. You said it had to be a vague question with a very specific answer. One could argue this is a very difficult question because it seems so simple, and yet every one of my students gave very specific and very detailed answers. All of them were even able to cite actual lines of the poem to back up their statements without having any access to the material on hand. Exactly the kind of answers you were demanding.”

In two long strides Gabriel was across the room. Azira's eyes widened as he was backed against a bookcase. He winced as his head connected sharply with a wooden shelf.

“You think this is funny?” Gabriel growled.

Azira tried to right himself, but Gabriel shoved him back, twisted a fist in his collar crushing his bow tie, and deliberately cracked his head on the wood again. Azira reached out behind him dizzily, trying to find an anchor.

“You are _pathetic_,” Gabriel loomed over him, bodily pinning Azira against the case. “You can't even follow the simplest of tasks.”

“I would argue –”

Gabriel shook him, shifting his hand to grip tight against Azira's throat. “I don't care what you have to say! You were given an order, and it is your job to _obey_ orders. Not to question, not to argue.” His hands tightened, fingers digging into the soft skin. Azira gasped and clawed uselessly at thick material of Gabriel's jacket, his eyes watering. Gabriel applied more pressure, his mouth curled in disgust. “We need to start over with you, don't we. You need to learn _obedience._” Gabriel released his hold, shoving Azira back again. Azira coughed and gasped for breath. “Get on your knees.”

Azira glared up at him incredulously. “What?”

Stars exploded in front of his eyes at an unexpected blow, and he staggered, almost falling. For a moment hope blossomed in his chest as the momentum almost carried him out of Gabriel's sphere of influence.

Gabriel caught him by the collar, dragging him back. “I said _get on your knees,_” he growled.

Still out of breath, throat throbbing, head aching, Azira stared at his superior. Gabriel radiated with fury, his face hard. The longer he looked, the angrier Gabriel became, as though what he was demanding wasn't crazy. Azira wasn't even sure what Gabriel expected from this. Did he honestly think that was an order he'd take?

Seething, Gabriel pushed closer, their chests now nearly touching. “Do not make me say it again.”

“That's not happening,” Azira said.

In one smooth motion he stepped forward and brought a knee up into Gabriel's groin as hard as he could. As he'd hoped, the air was punched out of Gabriel's lungs, his upper body crumpling. Azira shoved him back hard, and used the newly freed space to dart past him.

“You little shit!” Gabriel roared. His arm lashed out, catching Azira, and bodily throwing him to the floor. Azira's head cracked loudly on the cold tile, and his vision blacked for a moment before swimming back.

Azira tried to push himself up, but he couldn't orient himself and fell back. He was aware of Gabriel kneeling over him, a hand twisted in his hair, keeping his head pinned to the floor. The room was spinning, and there was a loud ringing in his ears. He stared up blearily, trying to keep track of what was happening.

“Just what do you think you can do, huh? I could fuck you over your desk right now. You could scream until the ceiling fell, and no one would think to help you. You need to learn your place.”

“Just what do you think you're doing?” Crowley's voice cut through the air like a knife. It was soft, but his face was a mask of rage. His slight frame filled the doorway, anger radiating from every line of his body, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

There was a rumble of frustration as Gabriel released his hold and stood, straightening the lines of his jacket as he rose. “I don't think I know you.”

“It doesn't matter _who I am_. You are a _Dean_,” he spat the word, “and _this_ is assault.”

Gabriel chuckled. “More like a reprimand.”

“No,” Crowley drawled stepping into the room. “No, I don't think so. This is something far more disturbing I'm afraid. But tell me, do you treat all of your faculty this way?” His words were calm, but each was clipped, delivered with cold precision, his wrath barely contained. “I wonder what Michael would say.”

Azira tried to push himself up again, and this time succeeded. Despite everything the sight of Crowley – even in his rage – was calming.

Gabriel chuckled. “You think she'd care about anything that happens in this room?” He was slowly moving toward Crowley, each step slow and measured. Azira wanted to shout at him to run, but Crowley wasn't backing down. “I've never seen you before, so you're not a member of the English faculty... you're too old, and a bit too cocky to be a student...” he chucked, “Don't tell me you're a _friend_.”

“So what if I am?” Crowley asked.

Gabriel smiled pityingly. “Bad choice.”

“Maybe you just have no taste,” Crowley glanced down at Gabriel's suite. “Though that's obvious.”

Gabriel smiled, cold and furious as he sized Crowley up. In the end he glanced back at Azira. “This is far from over.”

Crowley scowled, but let Gabriel step past him. Azira let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Gabriel left without laying a hand on him. Once he was out, Crowley slammed the door, and then in a flash was on his knees, hands gently touching Azira's throat.

“That _bastard_. How long has this been going on? Has he ever done this before?” He demanded.

Azira smiled a bit shakily. “I'm fine.”

Crowley's fingers went to the back of Azira's head and came back red stained. “You're _bleeding_, angel!” He hissed in annoyance, frustrated beyond measure.

He jerked when Azira touched his face, careful fingers reaching up to remove Crowley's glasses. “You saved me, dearest. Thank you.”

Crowley blinked in surprise as Azira cradled his face a tender expression in place. He grabbed the glasses and tossed them haphazardly behind him, and sprang to his feet, pulling Azira up after him. The sudden shift caused Azira's head to swim. Crowley was there instantly, pulling Azira close.

“Really, I'm _fine_. This is nothing I can't handle.”

“You shouldn't have to handle it! This is sexual harassment! He assaulted you!”

“He's my department head,” Azira countered. “Who do you go to when it's your _boss_? Michael? You heard Gabriel! She doesn't care. The President? She's on sabbatical, and isn't answering calls or email –”

“HR then,” Crowley said. “That's what they're there for isn't it?”

Azira laughed darkly. “They're not going to help me, especially if it means siding against him. Why would they? Gabriel's right, I am pathetic.”

With a snarl Crowley spun Azira around, pinning him to the Bentley. Azira looked at it in confusion. He couldn't remember any part of the walk over. “We're here?”

“Shut up! You don't get to talk about my angel like that!”

Azira smiled softly. He wasn't afraid of Crowley, or being pinned by him. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads. Crowley sighed. He wanted to stay angry, but he couldn't resist. He stepped forward, pulling Azira into his arms. “Don't try to distract me. I'm not letting this go.”

Azira cuddled closer, nosing up under Crowley's chin. Crowley couldn't bear to part, and allowed the embrace for some time. It wasn't until he noticed Azira beginning to doze that he broke them apart and carefully loaded Azira into the car.

“You shouldn't sleep, you know. You're probably concussed.”

Azira shrugged. It was too much work to keep his eyes open. He slumped against the door and rested his head against the cool glass. “I've read it's actually the opposite, and that it can sometimes be helpful to awaken a person and see their reactions. Someone who has a hard time waking up may have a more serious injury.”

“How – Wha – Are you actually arguing for this, or are you just being contrary?”

“Just a thought.” Azira peered out the window as they made an unexpected turn. “Where are we going?”

“Off to see a doctor.”

Azira forced himself to sit up straighter. “That is highly unnecessary.”

“Angel, you hit your head I don't even know how many times, and your throat looks bad. Like, really really bad. That is going to be a nasty bruise.”

Before Azira could argue further, they arrived. He could track every moment of their conversation, so he was fairly certain he wasn't missing time, but there was no way Crowley had gotten them there so fast going the speed limit. The moment the car stopped Crowley leapt out the door, and darted around to help Azira out.

“All this fussing –” Azira sighed, but he accepted Crowley's hand and allowed himself to be drawn up.

“– Indulge me then,” Crowley said.

Crowley kept Azira's hand tight in his, all but dragging him along as he hurried toward the door. Once inside he left Azira a few feet back and approached a nurse alone. Azira wasn't sure what he said, but they were immediately taken back to a room, and assured a doctor would be right with them.

“How did you get us seen so fast?” Azira asked.

“Huh?” Crowley looked at him in feigned confusion.

“Hello, Dr. Fell, I'm Doctor Tracy.” The woman looked kind, if a bit eccentric. She gave Crowley a scolding look. “Dr. Crowley.”

“Hey, I didn't do anything this time!” Crowley threw his hands up, backing away. Azira really wanted to know more about whatever that was, but Doctor Tracy just winked at him and turned back to her patient.

“You two... know each other?” Azira asked.

Tracy laughed and chucked Azira under the chin. “Aren't you darling. I've known Dr. Crowley for a few years now. He asked for help with a seance once, quite the fun adventure. My tenant Mr. Shadwell tried to kill him – thought he was a witch. I haven't laughed so hard in ages!” With a little laugh she tipped Azira's head back, and unbuttoned his collar. “You two have been having a bit too much fun it seems,” she said. “I'll have to teach you both about proper breath play and safe words.”

“Wha –”

“Come now, Crowley darling, don't be coy. I see what you were trying, but you really shouldn't be leaving marks like this. It can be very dangerous.”

“I didn't do this!” Crowley jumped away dramatically his face a picture of shock.

“Oh, I'm not one to judge, little love. A little choking in the bedroom can be quite fun, but I think you may have gone a bit too far this time. Of course the first time can always be a bit difficult as you figure out what you like and how to stay in control.”

“What?!”

“And you, love. You musn't be afraid to tell him _no_. You need to pick a safe word and use it when you need to. I know it can be overwhelming, but choking to this extent has the potential to cause an embolism. There are much safer ways to get the same result.”

Azira could no longer hold back his laughter at Crowley's growing shock. His expressions were priceless.

“Well, I never! This is nothing to laugh about. This was very dangerous, and the bruising his going to be quite bad.”

Crowley grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. “No, no. _I_ didn't do this!”

“You cannot honestly expect me to believe you two aren't fucking.”

“Of course we are,” Crowley shouted. “But I didn't hurt him!”

“Really? Care to explain how this happened then?”

Azira rubbed the back of his neck, turning to look at the wall. Very pointedly saying nothing.

Crowley leaned into his line of sight, his face a challenge.

Azira huffed. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Doctor Tracy caught his chin and kept his face turned. Azira winced as careful fingers brushed through his hair. “Nasty wound here. You hit your head rather hard on something.” When Azira didn't answer she prodded his shoulder. “I need you to answer Dr. Fell. Do you remember the incident?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then share with the class, Azira!” Crowley raged. “Why are you protecting him?”

“I'm not protecting him!”

“Then tell us!”

“Crowley, I think you might be a bit to close to this one,” Tracy said. “Calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“Dearest,” Azira took his hand. “I'm okay, really.”

Crowley deflated. He stepped close, and curled around his angel. “He hurt you, he deserves to die.”

“I'm not saying you're wrong, Crowley. But if I try to fight this, I'm going to lose.”

“Impossible –”

“Listen to me, love. You're right, in the end I might win, but in the meantime Gabriel would be within his rights to put me on administrative leave while there's an investigation. He's going to argue that I'm making everything up for money and like the good Doctor assumed, he's going to point the finger at you. Maybe I'll be able to fight my case eventually, but while I'm gone, he's going to punish my students. Either he'll give them deliberately impossible tests, or worse, he'll cancel all my classes and decide that they've missed so much of the year they need to retake the course. I won't do that to them. It isn't fair.”

Silence followed his declaration. Crowley was frozen in shock, and Doctor Tracy seemed confused.

“That's...” Crowley trailed off.

“Idiotic,” Tracy finished.

“Sweet.” Crowley countered.

“But idiotic and misguided.” With a firm frown in place Doctor Tracy went through the rest of her examination, testing his hearing, vision, reflexes, balance, and attention span. “I'll need to schedule a CT scan to be sure, but there's no reason for me to keep you here tonight. Get lots of rest, and do your best to ice the area. Take the night to think, and I hope you'll reconsider your stance on this. Be a dear, Crowley, and take lots of pictures of the bruising just in case. I expect you to take responsibility for him for the evening. If he starts acting strange, bring him back immediately. Azira dear, I can help set up a police report if you need at any time.”

“I won't be needing that, but thank for your time.” Azira stood up.

Crowley scowled at Azira as he passed, then shot Tracy a grin. “He is a cutie though, right?”

She glowered at him. “Idiots, the both of you!”

Crowley laughed, and ran to catch up with Azira.

Azira winced as they stepped outside and shaded his eyes, cursing Gabriel's name. He jumped as Crowley set his sunglasses on his nose. Azira smiled thankfully, but quickly schooled his expression. “I'm not changing my mind.”

“We'll just have to come to an arrangement then.” Crowley said. He tucked Azira under his arm and strolled toward the Bentley.

Azira looked at him suspiciously, but didn't immediately argue. Crowley counted it as a win.

“I hear your argument, and I suppose I can respect it, and I... will back off a _little_ about today, but in return you wont go back to your office. Ever.”

“My office? But... I need an office. I have a lot of classes, and I need to prepare for them throughout the day.”

“So use my office.”

“Your...”

“Yes, _my_ office.”

“I don't think a greenhouse is a good place for me to prepare. I don't mean to offend, I'm just worried about humidity soaking all my papers. And any way, I couldn't just _leave_ my office. What will happen to my books? Or the plants?”

“That's part of the arrangement, my love. I will take care of your office for you.”

“I don't know...”

“If you don't agree to my terms, I'm going to march into Gabriel's office and set him on fire.”

“You can't possibly...”

“Are you really doubting my ability to cause mayhem?”

“No! I just... this is a lot of change. What if Gabriel decides to destroy my books? I have a lot of first editions, books that are out of print... I'm worried about them.”

“Angel, angel,” Crowley cupped Azira's face, kissing his cheeks. “I won't let anything happen to your books, I promise.”

Azira blushed, and gripped Crowley's wrists, steadying himself.

“I wouldn't forbid you from doing something, but I'm begging you. Please Azira. Please don't make me worry. Don't go back there.”

\-------

Azira prepared for his first class at home, and arrived on campus just in time for his lecture on Shakespeare.

As Doctor Tracy had predicted, the bruising on his throat was impossible to hide with his usual outfit. Digging through his closet eventually turned up a long necked jumper. It was a bit too hot for the season, but it was better than having to explain the marks. He wore it under his usual vest and jacket, and tucked a button down into his bags in case he couldn't take the heat. Speaking was a little difficult, but he made sure to keep plenty of cocoa on hand, and that eased it, if only a little.

The class itself went well, but Azira's eyes kept darting to the door. He was sure at least a few of his student's noticed his eyes, his clothes, his voice, but thankfully no one said anything. Afterward he streamed out of the building in the mob of kids heading to their next classes. This garnered even more looks, but Azira kept his eyes forward and headed towards the science department as soon as he was clear of the building.

He paused when he entered. The layout was so different from the English department that for a moment he felt lost. Crowley had given him an office number but he wasn't sure where to start looking for it. It was beyond tempting to call it a bust and find somewhere else, but his feet remained frozen in place.

He heard distant laughter and footsteps as a group of students entered the atrium. The group paused as they saw him, giving him a curious once over. Finally a girl stepped forward. “You look lost, do you need help finding something?”

Azira breathed a sigh of releif. “Would you happen to know where Professor Crowley's office is?”

A boy laughed, not unkindly. “His office is in one of the subbasements with the rest of the life sciences faculty, but I wouldn't your time. He's never there.”

“I think he has a class right now,” another girl mused. “We could take you there if you wanted.”

Azira smiled ever so slightly. “That's okay, I know where his class is. He just asked me to stop by his office.”

The kids gave him a more intrigued look.

The first girl grinned widely. “In that case, it's downstairs on sub two. Just take the elevator. It's over in the back on the left.”

“Thank you for your help,” Azira said, waving as he walked to the elevator partially hidden in a nearby hallway.

The elevator dinged on subbasement two and opened to a dark and crowded hallway. It was currently empty, and Azira hurried to find the right office before he ran into anyone. Crowley had assured him that his colleagues would be too shocked and confused by his appearance to mess with him, but Azira was still hesitant.

Crowley's office was nothing like Azira expected. There was no sign of personality, no sign of life. The walls were bare, no pictures, no books, nothing. The only thing in the room was a desk that looked as though it had never been used, and an odd chair that looked like a throne. In front of it was another chair, this one screamed uncomfortable from its thin, uneven metal legs to its excessively thin padding.

Azira set his bag down, and and unloaded his supplies.

\-------

Crowley finished his lecture in record time.

He was distracted the whole time, and had half considered letting everyone go early, but he had material he needed to cover, and he hadn't found a good stopping point any earlier. He was worried about Azira. If he had his way, his angel would never have left his side today. As it was, he just had to hope he was right, and Hastur and Ligur left him alone.

Once the lecture ended, he darted out the door, all but shoving students aside in the effort to get out as fast as possible. He ran to the English department, and darted up the stairs. As he rounded a corner and started down the final hallway, he drew to a stop. A student he vaguely recognized from lurking suspiciously at the back of one of his classes was trying the door to Azira's office, frowning at it when it wouldn't open. Interesting.

Crowley tucked his hands in his pockets and sauntered over.

Adam jumped at his sudden appearance, but covered it with a bored expression of his own. “Hello, Professor Crowley. Didn't realize you taught English these days.”  
  


Crowley smirked. “I teach a variety of things.” He pulled out Azira's keys with a jingle and let himself in.

Adam followed, eyeing the man suspiciously as he flopped onto the well worn couch. His eyes took in the fallen books, settling on a small smear of blood on the tiled floor. He glared accusingly at Crowley.

Crowley thew up his hands. “Woah now, buddy. Not me.”

“Who then?”

“That bastard Gabriel.”

To his surprise Adam didn't even question it, just frowned in thought. “Has he gone to HR yet?”

“Thank you!” Crowley shouted.

“So... no?”

“Of course not,” Crowley said.

“Right. So what's the plan?”

Crowley stared at Adam's earnest face. He hadn't expected having an accomplice so soon, but it would make the job easier. “First thing? We get these books to safety. After that? Haven't worked it out yet.”

“Sounds good, I'll call my team.”

“You have a team?”

“You don't?”

\-------

Azira felt like he was going crazy. This office was just terrible. So cold, so unwelcoming, so unnervingly quiet. He found himself fidgeting more and more, his eyes darting to his phone, counting every minute that passed. Eventually he could no longer even pretend to work. He didn't want to go the greenhouse in defeat in the face of Crowley's kindness, so he passed the time twirling back and forth in Crowley's chair. He stopped at a slight commotion outside the door, like a guilty child caught in the act of goofing off.

A rattle, and the door slowly opened. A curious head poked in, hesitant, as though amazed to find the door open at all, and ready to run if punishment seemed forthcoming for interrupting.

Azira had the made up excuse Crowley had devised on the tip of his tongue, but he paused. The face was too young to be a teacher. A student then?

The face was frozen at the sight of him. Quick dark eyes darted to the door number, then back to Azira. His thin face watched Azira with mild distrust, doing its best to hide behind lanky brown hair. Azira felt himself smile in response.

The kid's face slowly relaxed and a shy smile emerged. After all, Azira looked like a safe and friendly adult. The door opened a little wider, enough for the student to slip in, but he kept the door open, one hand on it as though worried it would shut unexpectedly. “I'm looking for Professor Crowley?”   
  


“Um...” Azira's mind flashed to Crowley holding him by the collar hissing, _do not – under any circumstances – tell __**anyone**__ where I am_, “I'm afraid he's not available. Is there something I can help you with?”

The student moved further in, setting down his bag on a thinly padded chair and pulling out his textbook. “I'm afraid I'm just not getting this chapter on evolution...”

Azira hesitated – it was not his subject after all – but it felt wrong to send the student away. “I might be able to help with that. What in particular did you have questions about?”

“Honestly? All of it. I just can't wrap my head around any of it. I tried asking my dad, and he just shouted that we didn't come from monkeys...” he sighed, “he isn't even crazy religious, he's just a politician over in the States, and it's an election year, so he's gone... a bit mental.”

“Well, it is true that humans didn't evolve from monkeys, though likely not in the way he means. We share a common ancestor with great apes. You see, at its most basic, evolution is all about heritable characteristics of biological population over successive generations. This was first proposed by Darwin in the mid 19th century. Here, let's look at his book _On the Origin of Species_...” Without thinking Azira reached for where he knew the book to be. He jerked back in surprise at the bare walls. “Oh. Right.... Well, I think I remember enough to help a little anyway.”

The student fumbled for a notebook, and eagerly jotted down everything Azira had to say. It wasn't his subject, but Azira did a lot of reading in almost every category. His love of reading knew no bounds, and he had a good memory for a good story. The story of the Galapagos and the myriad of finches was a particularly good story. Eventually his alarm went off, letting him know he had a class starting soon. He sighed and looked at his phone. He hadn't noticed how much time had passed. “I suppose that's all for now then. I hope it was helpful.”

“So much! Thank you!” With a happy smile, he packed away his notebook. “So... if you don't mind my asking, who are you?”

Azira laughed. “I guess did forget to introduce myself. I'm Professor Fell.”

“I'm Warlock. You know so much! What do you teach?”

“English.”

Warlock giggled. “You know a lot of science for an English teacher.”

Azira smiled sheepishly. “I don't know about all that.”

To Azira's surprise Warlock shook his hand. “I don't suppose you're free for help with midterms? I know a lot of people who'd be interested.”

“I'm not sure I'd be that much help.”

“I think you'd be great,” Warlock shrugged. “Where do you usually do your office hours? You know, in case I have any more questions?”

“I'm not sure,” Azira glanced at the office he hoped never to set foot in again, “My usual office is... unavailable.”

“You know, the library has rooms,” Warlock said. “You could probably use one of those.”

“A library?” Azira hummed. He'd never considered going to the library. He'd heard whispers and horror stories about how the general student body treated the books and had been too horrified to go, but how much worse could it really be than what today had been? “Maybe I will.”

After class Azira headed toward the center of campus. While he'd never been to the library before, he still knew approximately where it was located. After all, the building was massive, and took up a good chunk of space near the English department.

It had a contemporary look Azira wasn't fond of, with stone pillars out front, as though someone had decided that no matter how modern looking library was, it needed pillars. There were several rotating doors placed in the front, instead of the standard doors he preferred, marring the face even more. He carefully stepped into one, and followed it around the track until he stepped into the wonderfully air conditioned building.

Suddenly he wasn't sweltering in his long necked jumper.

Along one wall was a long desk with computers spaced every four or so feet. A student was behind each one, checking books in, or typing diligently. On the opposite side was a pleasant looking coffee shop, surrounded by small tables and comfy looking chairs.

Every where else were rows and rows of book cases.

He could see in the center of the large building was a suitably large staircase that lead to even more bookcases on the floor above, and another leading below. While the upstairs was designed to be quite open, and easy to view from the main floor, the downstairs disappeared into darkness, where he imagined the more fragile and light sensitive material would be held.

Azira breathed in the smell of books and coffee, and felt all his muscles relax. He hadn't even been aware of how tense he was until his burden was lifted. He walked further in, and got lost amongst the stacks, his fingers unconsciously brushing along the spines of the books he passed. He wasn't paying attention to where he was heading, he was just enjoying being surrounded by the smell, the feel, the peace the books offered.

Eventually his path led him to the center of the library, and suddenly the bookcases ended, revealing a series of dark wooden tables. Several of them had tall, frosted dividers to give the illusion of privacy to the students who worked in complete silence with their heads bent to their tasks.

Azira frowned in mild distaste. He had worked in tight conditions before, but these partitions were a bit too much. He chose a desk set a little further back, devoid of any obstructions. He was surprised that no one else had chosen to work on it. He carefully unpacked the papers he needed to grade, separated into stacks determined by class, and got to work, the only sound the scratch of his pen, and the rustle of paper.

It's some time later when he finally raised his head, and purely by chance caught a student watching him. As soon as she noticed she'd been caught, she hurriedly went back to organizing the books. Azira gave her an appraising look as she hastily busied herself. It wasn't normally his habit to engage with random students, but then...

The next time she glanced over, Azira was gone. She carefully craned back, trying to see if he moved to a different table, and pouted in disappointment when she couldn't locate him.

“Hello,” Azira said cheerfully.

She let out a small scream, and dropped the books in her hands.

Azira quickly knelt and gathered them all up with a practiced ease. One glance at the spines, and he began restocking the shelves. The mousy girl watched for a few moments, and then got back to work, a blush coloring her cheeks. Azira decided to let the girl break the silence first, and continued working through the books on her cart, a soft smile on his lips.

The longer they worked the more the girl shook with nervous energy. Azira wanted to draw her out, he felt bad making her suffer so, but he wasn't sure what to say or what she wanted. Once the cart was empty he gave her his full attention. “Was there something I could help you with?”

The girl jumped at being addressed, and took several steps back. Azira stayed where he was, and did his best to look as none threatening as possible.

The girl bit her lip, considering. “I'm Maria,” she finally admitted.

“Hello, Maria. I'm Professor Fell,” he made sure to keep his voice calm and slow, doing his best not to spook her. “Do I know you?”

“Um... no...”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“Sort of?”

Azira waited for her to say more, but instead she took her cart and headed back out of the stacks. Azira watched her go, unsure if he should follow. After a few feet Maria turned to look over her shoulder and gestured for him to join her.

Maria led him to the main counter at the front. Azira wasn't quite sure what he was doing there, but he noticed that as soon as he stepped up to the counter, several students shot him covert looks, a few even stopped working entirely, doing their best not to look, and failing.

As soon as she could, Maria scurried behind the counter, though she didn't go far.

Azira smiled at her. Being forced to teach a lot of intro classes meant he had a lot of experience with Freshmen, and he was used to seeing shyness as students worked on finding themselves and where they fit in. With a counter between them, Maria seemed to gain a small measure of confidence. She looked walked up to another student and whispered, “This is Professor Fell.”

“Fell?” He looked at Azira. “Wait. As in, A.Z. Fell and Co?”

Azira's eyes narrowed. “Yes?

Suddenly it was as if a great breath was released, and all the students were scrambling to meet him.

“No way!”

“I thought that was a myth!”

“No! It really exists! I've walked past it so many times!”

“I've never seen it actually open.”

“I saw it open once! It was just after midnight! I was a little drunk though...”

“Well, clearly you imagined it.”

“No! I didn't!”

Azira leaned back in surprise as suddenly every eager eye was on him. Gone were the shy looks and the quiet voices. Everyone was excited, large grins in place, eyes bright with merriment.

“When is your shop actually open?”

“I'm telling you, it's never open!”

Azira chuckled. “I suppose in a way you're both right. I keep... interesting hours.”

“But you _do_ open, right?”

“Mmmm...” While this was cute and all, Azira didn't actually want to encourage any customers.

“I knew it!” The boy in front of him didn't seem upset by his lack of response, he bounced on his toes like a kid on Christmas.

“I mean, I do open every now and then... I just...” Azira wasn't sure if he should admit the real reason he almost never opened because he couldn't bear to sell a book.

The students didn't seem annoyed though, if anything they seemed tickled.

“I wouldn't want to open either,” Maria said. “Could you imagine letting all those _strangers_ touch your books?”

“Well, you do work in a library,” Azira teased. He was surprised at the uproarious laughter that received.

“He has a point! When I graduate, I'm not letting anyone touch my books ever again.” One of the older students winked at Azira. “Alright, guys, back to work. Professor Fell, would you join me over here?”

With groans of disappointment the students turned back to their terminals. Maria waved mournfully, and loaded another cart of books to be restocked. Azira wasn't sure what to expect as he was gestured behind the counter, and to a small office.

Inside, he was greeted with a cup of tea, and shown to a cozy chair. He was used to small offices, and was impressed with her excellent space management.

“A pleasure to meet you, Professor Fell,” she said. “I'm Rhonda.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Azira said. “You have a wonderful library.”

“Not exactly _my _library, but I do have the pleasure of running it,” Rhonda's smile was huge, but she reigned it back quickly. “Maria told me she saw you grading at one of our larger desks?”

“Yes, I hope I wasn't disturbing anything...”

“Oh, not at all! I was just wondering if you needed a more... formal work space? I'm sure we can find you an office if you'd like.”

Azira could only stare in confusion. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“An office,” Rhonda said. “Well, honestly we've already put one together for you. That was mostly Maria's suggestion. She took your class on LGBT literature and hasn't shut up about you since. You really helped her connect with herself. I know she's acting a bit shy today, but as soon as she relaxes a little she's going to talk your ear off. Consider that a warning,” she winked again.

Azira was sure he was missing something.

“So if you'd like, I'll take you over to the room. It's not huge, but it's got the essentials, and a pretty nice view. It'll give you some privacy while you're grading, or planning, or whatever.”

“An office?” Azira finally found his voice. “What makes you think I need one?”

Rhonda shrugged. “Why else would you be grading papers here?”

“Fair point.”

“Don't misunderstand,” Rhonda said, grabbing a set of keys from a drawer. “I don't want there to be any pressure. You can use it or not. Whatever you want, no judgment. We'll keep it locked when you're not here, you'll have a key, and we'll have one up here in case you need it.” She looked Azira up and down, considering. “And in case it's important, I want you to know that we don't need it for anything pressing, so you're not taking it away from anything else.”

Azira studied her, considering. He was a bit impressed that she was reading his body language and trying to comfort him. “I suppose there's nothing wrong with seeing it.”

“Exactly!” There was a bounce in her step as Rhonda led him back out.

She took him up the main staircase, and along a suspended bridge to a glass fronted room. Azira's breath caught as they stepped in. The far wall had a window that took almost the full space. It looked out at the student plaza and a series of brightly leafed trees, letting in plenty of light. Unlike his usual office the glass wasn't frosted, and could actually open to allow a breeze in. The walls to the left and right were painted a soft grey, giving the room a coziness that a lot of glass could have taken away. The large desk was a lovely mahogany, with a plush comfortable chair behind it. A lamp stood to the side to give him some extra light as he needed it. On the desk were a few books, carefully placed. Azira touched them gently, wondering if Maria had put them there, and what significance they might have had to her. In the drawers were office supplies – pens, paper, and more essentials. There weren't any book cases, but from the desk he could see out into the library, giving the illusion that his room was filled with tens of thousands of books.

He smiled at Rhonda. “It's perfect.”

Rhonda tossed him a kitschy key ring. “It's yours, for as long as you want it. If you need anything, just let us know, ok?”

“Thanks you. I really appreciate it. More than you know.”

Rhonda gave a pleased smile, and left, shutting the door carefully behind her. Azira sat down carefully. He had several hours to go until his next class, and he was already prepared for it, so he'd brought along a book from home. It was a testament to how comfortable he felt that he lost all track of time, sucked into the story.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley groaned at the destruction he'd caused in the greenhouse. He'd never let them know how guilty he felt, or Satan forbid, apologize, but he did his best to do what he could to salvage the plants. He didn't even scream at them about anything. He knew this was his fault. 

While carefully pruning and tending, Crowley tried to think of what he could do about Azira. He knew what he wanted to do. Kill Gabriel. But that was out of the question, as painful as it was to admit. Sadly, spending the rest of his life in prison wasn't a viable game plan. While he knew that, the thought of it was driving out everything else though. He couldn't plan a truly awful feasible punishment, when all he wanted to inflict was mortal damage. 

The kid he met, Adam, maybe he'd have some idea of what to do. Adam and whoever his team ended up being had agreed to meet him at the English building at midnight. If he still hadn't thought of something to do by then, he'd broach the subject. 

In the meantime he needed to build his own team. It wasn't that he doubted Adam, but it was never good to rely too heavily on any one person, especially if that person happened to be a student he'd never met before. His own team wouldn't be too terribly hard, after all, he was sure he could contact some of the students he'd used for pranks in the past. They were normally more interested in causing the maximum amount of mayhem possible, but hopefully he could find a good way to spin this current assignment. 

\-------

Azira was finishing his last class for the day, and was writing out the reading assignments and homework on the white board. He turned with a flourish, and froze. 

Standing in the back, a large smirk firmly in place, was Dean Gabriel. 

Azira imperceptibly drew back. If anyone in his class noticed, no one said a word. Instead the students quickly grabbed their bags and headed out, streaming past Gabriel without looking at him. 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow in challenge. In his particular room, there was no other exit. 

He quickly shoved his belongings back into his bag. He had been intending to walk out with the crowd, but his shock had delayed him just a little too long, and now the stream of students was thin enough there'd be nothing stopping Gabriel from intercepting him. Still, he had to try.

“Professor Fell!” 

Adam shoved past the exiting students, striding up to Azira with all the confident self importance an upperclassman could muster. Azira had never been so happy to see him. 

He pulled out a textbook, that from the cover revealed itself to be on Sports Management and started asking questions on music theory. Azira felt incredibly grateful as he stuttered an awkward answer, sweeping out the door with a hand on Adam's shoulder. He could practically feel Gabriel's anger as he tailed them through the building. 

Once they hit the main hallway, they were joined by kids Azira recognized as Adam's friends. Now, with a circle of students around him, Gabriel fell back, unwilling to act with witnesses.

Outside, Azira was surprised to find the Them leading him to the greenhouse. Crowley was already standing outside, a handful of roses in hand. He offered a lazy salute to the kids, who bid Azira goodbye, and broke away. 

Azira shot Crowley a questioning look. Crowley just shrugged. He captured Azira's hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then handed him the flowers. Azira felt his cheeks heat as he smelled the roses. 

Crowley tried to focus, feeling a little light headed, his heart beating faster just from their proximity. “Dinner?” 

Azira smiled brightly and took his arm. 

After, Crowley dropped Azira off at the bookstore. He walked Azira to the door, but made no move to enter. 

Azira looked at him questioningly, and Crowley did his best to hide his nervousness. He didn't want to lie, but he also knew that Azira would disapprove of his plans for the night. 

“I'm afraid I can't stay tonight, angel. I need to... go give my plants some attention. I've been neglecting them a bit.” 

“Uh huh. Liar.” 

“I would never lie!” 

Azira laughed and smoothed down Crowley's lapel. He leaned close, and pressed a chase kiss to his lips. “Whatever it is you're doing tonight, please be careful.” 

Crowley stared, shocked into silence. He shook himself and swooped in, kissing Azira's cheek. “I love you.” He all but ran back to the Bentley before Azira could respond.

Azira watched him go, frozen in surprise. The words had been spoken before, passed off as terms of endearment, easily brushed aside, but this... this was an open declaration, something that couldn't be explained away as a mistake or a joke. Azira's blush stretched to the tips of his ears. He touched the warmth of his cheek. “You love...?” 

\-----

It was midnight. 

Crowley was lurking in a nearby shadow. He felt like he should be smoking something to complete the illusion he was going for, but that would give away his position. As it was, he knew he looked cool. It was one of his many talents. He startled at loud footsteps and muffled laughter. 

He shifted further back as the footsteps grew louder, wondering who could be making so much noise this late. 

After a few moments Adam and the Them walked into sight. 

Crowley unfolded from against the wall, and quietly shushed them. 

Pepper rolled her eyes. “No. People notice when you're being quiet and secretive.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “They don't look twice if you're being loud.” 

“Not too loud,” Wensleydale amended. “Too loud and they call people.” 

“Not too loud, not to quiet,” Brian said. 

“We've got it down. Lots of Practice,” Pepper said. 

“We're pros, Brian said. 

“So this is your team? Crowley asked. “Nice.” 

Adam grinned. “Yep, they're the best. Anyone else coming?” 

With a mournful sigh, Warlock steps around the building scowling at Adam. He slinked over, sizing him up. Adam straightens in response. 

Crowley wasn't sure what passes between them, but after a few moments they both relax, though their grins remained sharp. 

Warlock whistled and several more students broke away from the shadows of nearby structures.

“You can be right,” Warlock offhandedly, “If you do it wrong, being too quiet can be suspicious, but that doesn't mean stealth doesn't have any merit, it just means you have to be even better at it.” 

“Hey look,” Wensleydale whispered. “They're all wearing black.” 

“Cor, ninjas!” Brian said. 

A girl on Warlock's team blushed fetchingly. “Well, not exactly. We couldn't get the proper outfits ready in time.” 

And just like that, Warlock's team and the Them were friends, or at the very least, not enemies. Crowley felt a bit proud. He loved bringing misbehaving students together. 

“So what are we doing?” Warlock asked. 

“You don't even know that?” Adam asked. 

Warlock shrugged. “Crowley's always good for an adventures. I don't ask questions.” 

“Right, well, we're dealing with some books tonight.” 

“What, seriously?” 

Crowley stepped close, a dangerous grin in place. “Doubting me, young one? Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Come on, books?” 

“What, you don't think raiding the English department is challenging enough?” 

Warlock pouted suspiciously, but he didn't argue further.

“Let's get started then.” Crowley led them into the building. It normally would have been locked at this hour, but he'd taken care of that when he'd first arrived. 

Warlock and the four people in his group ran on ahead to scout for danger. Adam rolled his eyes. This wasn't some dungeon crawl, there weren't going to be traps. He and the Them walked with Crowley at a leisurely pace. At the stairs the caught up to a scowling Warlock.

“Didn't actually know where to go?” Adam asked cheerfully. He moved ahead, leading them up the familiar path to Professor Fell's office. 

Warlock spent the time muttering under his breath about the terrible architecture, the stupid number of stairs, and then the endless hallway. “Finally,” he groaned when they stopped in front of a locked door. 

Crowley pulled out the keys he'd borrowed from Azira and let them in. 

Warlock whistled at the sight. “That's a lot of books.” He walked over to a certain shelf, and pulled out On the Origin of Species. “This is Professor Fell's office, isn't it?” 

Adam gave him a sidelong look. “You know Professor Fell?” 

“Yeah, he helped me study. So this is his office...” 

“Wait, when did you meet Azira?” Crowley asked. 

“Earlier. In your office.” 

“Why did you go to my office?” 

Warlock shrugged. “I didn't know where else to find you so... I thought I'd give it a shot. Turns out it was a great call. Professor Fell knows a lot. You should have him help out with your classes.” 

Crowley gasped, offended. It was tempered by the fact that he was a besotted fool, and he knew it. But he was a fantastic teacher, and he didn't need help with his classes, thank you very much. He was perfectly capable of teaching anything he damn well pleased. 

Warlock shrugged. “He has a way with words. He just made the material super...”

“Relatable,” Adam finished. “Yeah, he really does. The rest of the staff think it's a punishment to make him teach so many subjects, but he really excels at it.” 

Crowley smiled, deciding he really liked Adam after all. But there was no time for that. He clapped his hands together briskly. “Okay, gang. Time to get started.”

Warlock passed his gaze over all the books stacked on the shelves, and over the random piles on every available surface. “How are we even...” 

Crowley elaborately flicked out his wrist and checked the reveled watch. He held up one finger for silence. After a few moments there was a sharp rap on the wood. Crowley opened the door, and a large man with a uniform proclaiming him to be from a professional moving company stepped in. He had more associates behind him, who stayed outside, realizing they wouldn't fit in just yet. How it was that they were willing to come to a completely dark deserted building in the middle of the night, no one would ever know. That was just Crowley for you. 

The kids looked at Crowley in confusion. 

“You didn't honestly think we were going to do this ourselves, did you?” Crowley asked. “We don't even haven any boxes, and there's no way that any of this would fit in the Bentley.” He passed his gaze over the movers. “All these, thanks.” 

“Be gentle,” Adam added. “Some of these books are very old, and Professor Fell will not hesitate to murder us all if they are damaged.” 

The leader of the movers, a big, tough man, who looked as though he never smiled nodded at Crowley. “Usual address?”

“Nah, somewhere else.” He handed them a scrap of paper. “Let me know when you're loaded up so I can meet you there.”

Another nod. Crowley shooed the children out of the room so the movers could get started. 

“So what are we here for?” Warlock asked. 

“Revenge.” 

With the books taken care of – at least for the moment – Crowley let his nose for trouble guide his steps as he meandered down the hallway. Where would Gabriel's office be? Certainly not around here. Gabriel wouldn't deign to walk this far, but probably on this floor. He seemed like the kind of person who would think a higher floor would have more prestige, while at the same time using the effort of getting there as a punishment. That in mind, the office would likely be towards the stairs to cut down on the walking, but not directly in front of them, as that might encourage students to bother him. As they neared the stairs, Crowley peered into each office. He was looking for something ostentatious. 

He soon came to a pair of showy offices. They were bigger than all the other offices they've passed with the windows are large and clear to allow as much light in as possible. There are a few book cases that look like they were made of very old oak, lovingly crafted. The books on it look as though they'd never been touched, and were purchased only for how they looked. They were thick, wrapped in leather, with gold foil. 

Crowley picked a room and grabbed a book. He flipped it open, and discovered that it was an encyclopedia. Of course they'd be the easiest to buy in bulk. 

He took a step back, and exited the office, rejoining the kids. 

“Which one is Gabriel's?” He asked. 

Adam pointed to the next one down. 

Crowley entered the room with his arms behind his back, taking wide, slow, steps, surveying everything. “I think we can work with this.”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Warlock asked. 

“I don't know how it is where you're from,” Brian said, “but around here we don't let slights go unpunished.” 

“Do you even know what happened?” Adam asks. 

Warlock shrugged. “He was hiding it, but I saw the bruises, and it was obvious something drove him out of this building. Someone sane, or reasonable wouldn't do that –” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Wensleydale scowled.

“A sane and reasonable person would report an incident to prevent it from happening again. It looks like Professor Fell is refusing to do that. So here we have a professor refusing to acknowledge that some guy attacked him – ”

“How do you know it's a man,” Pepper cut in.

Warlock frowned in annoyance. “That's obvious. Professor Fell was wearing a high collard shirt, and I could still see the bruise pattern, which makes me believe that it was a large hand, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but men tend to have larger hands.” 

“It could still have been a woman,” Pepper insisted. 

“Fine, what will the attacker do when they come back to find their office vandalized? Do they try to figure out who actually did it, or do they jump straight to the person they've been terrorizing? I agree that something needs to be done, but I think this might make life harder for Professor Fell is all.” 

“So you're saying we should do nothing?” Brian asked incredulously. 

“If there's no punishment for an action, what's to stop them from thinking they can just get away with it?” Pepper demanded. 

“No, no, I didn't say that, I'm just saying we need to think of the consequences.” 

“Look, all we're doing is being a nuisance, right?” Adam said. “We're not hurting anyone, and we're not damaging anything – seriously anyway. All we're doing is... pranking.” 

“There's nothing wrong with pranking,” Brian said. 

“It's practically a tradition,” Wensleydale added. 

“And it could be anyone,” Pepper said.

“Plus it's not something Professor Fell would ever think of doing,” Brian said. 

“So he'd be dumb to think it was him,” Adam finished. 

Warlock stared at them in shock. Watching the four of them talk over and with each other was always confusing at first. It was as though they all shared the same mind. Crowley was amazed he hadn't run into them before. 

“I'm just saying we need to be cautious,” Warlock said a bit sullenly. 

Crowley frowned, worrying his lip. He wasn't really the cautious type, and the urge to ruin Gabriel's day was proving too hard to resist. Plus, Gabriel had fucked with something that was his! And he'd wanted to do worse than just a childish prank. If he hadn't interrupted in time, he had no doubt that Gabriel would have committed a sin so unforgivable that Crowley would have been forced to take more permanent action. As it was, just upsetting his office didn't seem like enough. Burning it down would have been closer. So while a small voice in the back of his mind was quietly telling him Warlock might have a point, the rest of his mind was doing its best to drown it out, screaming for vengeance. 

He knew if the extent of Gabriel's treachery was common knowledge Warlock would be right beside him in his quest for revenge, but he also knew that Azira would be unhappy knowing his private matters were made public. What little Warlock has pieced together would probably upset him enough as it was. He squared his shoulders. “Look, I can't tell you why we're doing this, but I can tell you that Gabriel deserves to be ground beneath your heels. I'm not exactly sure what we're going to do, but I'm not backing down. If you want to leave up understand, no hard feelings of course, but I'm not leaving things the way they are.” 

Warlock turns his gaze to Adam and his friends. They shrugged. 

“Professor Fell is ours,” Adam said. 

“And you can't back down from a bully,” Wensleydale said. 

“So if this guy picked a fight with our favorite teacher, he's got another thing coming,” Pepper said. 

“And frankly, no one pulls a prank better than us,” Brian finished. 

Warlock's shoulders were hunched. He looked between Crowley and the Them, and then back at his friends. They, for their part, seem bored. He didn't know if any of them had ever met Professor Fell, or if they cared at all. They shrugged as he looked at them. They were willing to do what he wanted to do, as per usual. He sighed. “OK Professor. Let's do this. What's the plan?” 

“Well... I'd be happy to set a fire on his desk and just let whatever happens happen.” Crowley said simply.

“That might be going a bit far,” Warlock said. 

“If you'd like,” Adam said, “my gang is more than willing to take point on this.” 

“That being said, we're going to need some supplies,” Pepper says. 

“I've got you covered,” Warlock said. 

“You don't even know what we need yet,” Brian said. 

Warlock shrugged. “Being the son of a diplomat has to have some perks. Just trust me when I say I can get a hold of anything you might need.” 

Adam grins wide and evil. “Well, alright then.”

They were all laughing when they finally finished, tossing the last of several red balloons into the office and closing the door tightly. Warlock had never seen his friends so happy, though considering he didn't know them too terribly well, that didn't say much. He was telling the truth when he said his father's position had it's benefits, but it had its downsides too. Friends who were only there because they had to be was one of them. He eyed Adam and his gang, clearly friends for their entire lives, with just a touch of jealousy. “That was... interesting,” he said. 

“Never underestimate the power of being annoying,” Crowley said. As though on cue his phone chimed. He grinned. “Books are packed and ready. Shall we?” 

Crowley bundled the kids into the Bentley – quite a feet, that even he wasn't fully sure how he accomplished. Once the doors were closed he rushed off into the night, driving so fast they beat the truck. 

When they pulled to the curb, Crowley laughed at the few scrambling out the doors the second the vehicle stopped. The rest laughed uproariously as they walked up to the bookshop entrance, Crowley doing his best to shush them before opening the door. 

While the shop looked dark from outside, inside he could see a distant light on. Crowley walked toward it, keeping his steps gentle and quiet, and quickly came across Azira. He's wearing his usual outfit, fully put together, every button fastened, with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and a pair of reading glasses. Next him was a cup of cocoa, a faintest wisp of steam rising from it. Crowley smiled softly at his angel, so immersed in his book he still hadn't noticed he was no longer alone, and felt his heart clench at the strength of emotion washing over him. 

Unable to contain it any longer he crossed the room in two strides and wrapped a hand beneath Azira's chin, tipping his head back so he could press a kiss to his lips. What was meant to be chaste, quickly became heated, until they breathlessly broke apart. 

“Hello,” Azira whispered, a puff of air against Crowley's lips. 

Crowley chuckled and kissed him again. 

Azira turned his head at a noise from the front, and shot Crowley a curious glance. 

“That's just... a late night poker game!” Crowley grinned a bit desperately. 

“Poker, eh?” Azira stood and took a few steps toward the front. 

Crowley grabbed his arm as he passed and spun him around, pressing him carefully to the wall, a knee sliding between his thighs. He pressed a series of gentle kisses to the bruising above Azira's collar. Azira sighed and tipped his head back, allowing Crowley more room, and he took full advantage, mouthing over his pulse and licking at his skin. 

“I haven't forgotten, you know,” Azira said. 

“Then I'm clearly not doing a very good job,” Crowley said, nipping at his jaw. 

Azira shivered beneath him, and Crowley moved closer, fingers deftly unbuttoning his vest and untucking his white button down. “I can't believe you're still fully dressed,” Crowley laughed softly.

Azira chuckled as his bow tie was tossed haphazardly behind Crowley's shoulder. Crowley took the opportunity to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, before licking into Azira's mouth. 

Azira whimpered, his fingers digging into Crowley's arm, seeking to ground himself. 

Crowley's fingers busied themselves finishing with Azira's buttons, and he bent to bite at the newly exposed skin. Azira unconsciously moved to hide the bulge of his belly, but Crowley's hands quickly skated down to capture Azira's wrists and pull them up over his head. He easily transferred his wrists to one hand, his other moving down to deftly undo Azira's belt. 

“You don't ever have to hide from me, angel,” Crowley whispered, his voice low and rough. Azira's breath hitched.

A small bang from the other room followed by muffled laughter shattered the moment. Azira pulled away, looking curiously toward the noise. Crowley groaned loudly, his head dropping to Azira's shoulder. “Those bastard mother fuckers.” 

“And here I thought you were joking about the poker game. I mean...” Azira attempted to pull his arms back down, but Crowley tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to Azira's throat. 

“They can wait.” 

Azira giggled. “No, no, no. I don't want your buddies to walk in on us.” 

“Pah, my buddies. They can wait.” 

“Professor Crowley?” A voice called. 

“Your audience beacons,” Azira whispered, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Crowley groaned loudly. “Ten minutes?” He pleaded. 

Azira pressed a kiss to his ear and extracted himself. He briefly considered going to see what was really going on in his front room, but a glance down convinced him otherwise. He did not want to go out disheveled as he was, and it seemed like far too much trouble to to put himself to rights. He threw a salacious wink over his shoulder. “Come see me when you're done?” 

“Winking?” Crowley's mouth dropped open in shock, a bright red blush covering his face. “You're winking now? Is that legal?” 

Azira giggled and disappeared up the stairs. 

Crowley watched until he was out of sight, and then shook himself. He checked his watch quickly and darted to the front room. With so much help – professional and volunteered – unloading went quickly. Once done, Crowley checked his watch again and inwardly cheered that only ten minutes had passed. Just as quickly it morphed to horror. He'd driven the students here, therefore as a responsible adult it was his job to drive them back. No matter how fast he drove, that was going to push him well belong the ten minute mark he'd begged from Azira. 

Warlock held up a hand, interrupting his thoughts. “I've got this Professor. Don't worry about us.” 

Adam and the Them looked at him curiously, and followed him out, waving at Crowley as they left. Crowley ran forward and quickly locked the door, and then sprinted upstairs. The apartment was dark, only a faint light radiated from the bedroom. He moved forward cautiously, and slowly peeked into the room. 

Azira was leaning back against the headboard reading, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. Crowley was a little sad to see he'd put himself back together and was now wearing an old fashioned set of pajamas in a soft blue tartan pattern. Crowley toed off his shoes and walked to the bed, crawling up Azira's legs. 

Azira still hadn't looked up by the time Crowley reached him. He placed a hand on the book and nudged it down. Azira allowed it for a moment and then tipped it back up. Crowley pushed it to the side, and Azira's eyes followed it. Finally Crowley shifted forward to pop his head up between Azira and the book, and all Azira did was raise the book higher. Crowley's head dropped to Azira's chest with a dull thud. 

“I give up.” 

Azira's laughter rumbled in his chest as he pointedly put the book down on the nightstand. 

While Crowley loved the glasses, he didn't want to risk hurting them. He made a point placing them carefully on top of the book, and after a moments hesitation placed his beside them. 

“Now, where were we?” 

Crowley leaned back, and encouraged Azira to shift down the bed until he was lying flat on his back. 

“I think we were.... here.” Crowley pressed a series of soft kisses along Azira's face, touching his chin, cheeks, forehead. His fingers busily worked the buttons on his pajama top. 

Azira's hands fumbled at Crowley's clothing. Unlike his own attire, Crowley's clothes were much tighter and were proving to be a challenge. After several moments of frustrated fumbling, Crowley finally pulled back with a soft chuckle to help, shrugging out of his jacket, and kicking off his trousers. In moments he was back, greedy hands touching as much as they could, relishing in the slide of skin on skin. 

Restrictions gone, Azira wrapped his legs around Crowley's hips, pulling him as close as possible. Crowley gasped, distracted by the sudden slide of his cock against Azira's. He groaned, and bit at all the skin he could reach, unable to stop himself from rutting against Azira. He finally forced himself to stop as he felt pressure building inside him. As much as he was enjoying himself, he needed more. 

As though reading his mind, Azira flung out an arm and fumbled for his night stand. His fingers caught on the drawer and he pulled out a small tube of lube, hurriedly passing it to Crowley. 

“Naughty angel,” Crowley grinned, slicking up his fingers. 

Azira's retort died on his lips as Crowley's fingers entered him, reducing him to nothing but breathless gasps. 

Crowley took his time, delighting in every sound, his fingers searching for that one special spot. He knew immediately when he found it. Azira moans turned to cries, the sound high and cut off, his body jerking and writing on Crowley's hand. He grabbed at Crowley's wrist, trying to still him, the feeling coursing through him almost too overpowering. 

Crowley's smile was feral as he broke Azira's hold on him and folded him near in half as he pressed deep again and again, delighting in every jerk and groan, every spasm of Azira's legs against his hips. Leaning close he bit and licked up to Azira's ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, teething at the delicate cartilage. 

Azira cried out again, and Crowley knew he was close. He quickly pulled his fingers free and did his best not to laugh at Azira groans of protest. Crowley didn't give him too much time to mourn, quickly replacing them with his cock, punching the air out of Azira's lungs. 

His head dropped against Azira's chest, eyes clenched shut as he did his best not to come then and there. Azira was so warm, so soft around him, he almost couldn't take it. He did his best just to breathe, and regain his composure. 

Azira was no better off. He was by no means a virgin, but it had certainly been a while. He did his best to relax as he got used to the feel of Crowley inside him, his hands taking the opportunity to map out Crowley's chest and back, eventually settling in Crowley's hair, scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Crowley sighed happily and turned to kiss at Azira's palms. He was caught off guard as Azira flexes around him, gripping him impossibly tight. Azira's gave him an impish smile

“You right bastard,” Crowley panted. He drew back and braced himself, then snapped his hips forward.

Azira moaned in response. 

With a sharp grin Crowley repeated the motion, and soon set a fast pace. 

He wasn't going to last long, and he knew it, but there would be plenty of time to try again. If he had his way this would be a regular occurrence. That being said, there was no way he was going to finish first. He angled his hips, making sure to hit Azira's prostate with every thrust until all Azira could do was cry his name, and drag his nails down Crowley's back. 

Crowley could feel heat pooling in his gut. He wasn't sure how far along Azira was, and in desperation his hand finally found Azira's cock, stoking firmly in time with his thrusts. Azira's hips jerked, simultaneously thrusting into his hand, and back against his cock, until he couldn't take it any more, and came with a cry, Crowley's name on his lips. 

Azira tightened even further around him, and Crowley couldn't take any more, following Azira over the edge. 

He collapsed afterward, panting against Azira's chest. His angel's arms come up and cradled him close. 

Wrapped in Azira's warmth, nose tucked to his throat, Crowley fell asleep. Azira followed soon after, for once not plagued by insomnia. 

The next morning Azira woke before Crowley and carefully extracted himself from beneath him. After a quick wash he ventured downstairs and paused. The front room was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes. He pulled one open curiously and his breath caught. He pulled open another and another. They were all full of carefully packed books. 

His face was a picture of joy, smile wide, eyes bright, his mused, fluffy hair glowing in the morning light. His heart swelled with so much emotion he felt tears come unbidden to his eyes, and he quickly returned upstairs, fully planning on showing Crowley just how much his actions were appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! I hope you've all been enjoying the story :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my Discworld references! Though, kudos to anyone who spots those references XD

With a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips, Gabriel strode away from his car in the faculty lot towards the English department.

He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous Bentley that always seemed to be there as he passed it. How anyone could think that was tasteful was beyond him.

He didn't bother looking at any of the student's he passed. They were a dime a dozen, worthless and unimportant. Maybe one would be worthwhile, maybe one would be worth the effort of education, but he doubted it.

The path he walked took him straight through the busiest parts of campus, and down the center of the walkway. He refused to alter his course by even a step, causing a few people to hurriedly dodge out of his way, but the glares he earned served only to make his cocky grin wider. No one would say anything, though it would be amusing to see them try.

Once inside he headed straight upstairs, the crowds dramatically thinning the higher he went. Now among the faculty he looked around with a critical eye, and felt a faint twinge of pride. Everyone looked well put together. Sharp outfits, well kept hair, serious expressions. A few of the higher ranked officials met his eyes, nodding in quiet greeting, the rest kept their eyes down as was their place, keeping out of his way.

Gabriel smirked. That was how it should be. That was respect.

For a moment he scowled as Azira came unbidden to his mind. The audacity of the man. The constant disrespect. Azira acted as though he was Gabriel's equal, and paid no heed to hierarchy. Well. He'd find a way to teach that worthless, ungrateful, soft, pathetic excuse for a teacher his place. Azira would either submit, or there would be sever consequences, and this time no one was going to interrupt them.

It was a climb to get to his office on the fourth floor, but he wouldn't have it any other way. If his office was on a lower level there was the risk that some errant student would think to disturb him, and that just wouldn't do. Besides, considering his prestige, no one should have a higher office than him. And perhaps Michael, he quietly amended.

He paused outside his office. His door was closed. He never closed his door. Far from having an open door policy – which would encourage people to come to him with their problems – he wanted to show off his luxuriousness, the prestige that came with his position. It was a subtle way of establishing his dominance.

Could the janitorial staff have closed it? He'd made his desires perfectly known, but perhaps he needed to revisit the subject with them.

He opened the door and a wall of balloons poured out into the hall.

Gabriel was frozen, his eyebrows raised, a fierce expression in place. He stepped into the room. Enough balloons remained that they still came up to his knees and shifted in waves with every step.

He snatched a balloon in anger, crushing it with a loud pop in his hands. He kicked violently at the balloons around him and froze. The floor was covered in... sticky notes? He bent and grabbed one. “What?” Beneath the sticky note was... newspaper. Gabriel finally took his eyes away from the balloons and saw every inch of his office was covered in various brightly colored notes. Every book, the bookcases, his desk, his computer, his chair, the goddamn window. Everything was covered in sticky notes. He stormed to the desk and swiped at the notes, and there beneath them was more newspaper. He screamed in rage.

“Sir?”

Gabriel swung around to the door. Uriel stood in the frame, a carefully blank expression taking in the room. “What?!” Gabriel shouted.

“Is everything... okay?”

“Does it look like everything is OKAY?” Gabriel raved.

“Should I....”

“Get help? What do you think?!”

Uriel nodded and ducked out.

Gabriel swiped at his desk again, but instead of the notes coming off, they simply bent. He snatched at the notes, pulling half a dozen off. He wasn't sure what to do with them, and tossed them behind his head, adding to the mess of balloons on the floor. Then his well manicured nails scratched at the paper, another snarl of frustration as the paper refused to tear. Finally he found a seam and tore the paper off, throwing the scraps behind him as well. When he finally turned, he clenched his fists hard enough to leave indentions in his palms at the sight of the messy pile of trash that he now had to wade through.

Kicking balloons roughly in front of him, Gabriel stuck his head out of his office, his eyes landing on a group of teachers heading for the stairs.

“Get in here NOW,” he shouted.

The professors exchanged a careful glance and did as they were told. They didn't have an option to do otherwise. Sandalphon grabbed a phone, and after carefully removing several sticky notes and paper, he called for the custodial staff to send help.

Gabriel kept a strict eye on him, looking for any hint of amusement in his expression. To his disappointment he found none.

He was so furious. He needed someone to unleash his wrath upon, but none of the people in the room were giving him an excuse. He turned his thoughts to who could have been responsible for this catastrophe.

With his office full of people working towards putting it to rights, Gabriel left, storming towards Azira's office. He knew deep in his bones that the bastard was responsible. He threw open the door and found... that the office was completely empty. The furniture that belonged to the university were present, but no books graced the shelves, or the tables, and the desk was completely bare. Even the stupid plants were gone.

Gabriel checked his watch, and thundered towards the stairs. It didn't matter if the coward avoided his office. He would still have to be present in class, and Gabriel knew precisely where he was at this exact moment.

He found Azira's class easily. The door was open, and Azira's voice drifted out to the hall. His cheerful voice only served to enrage him further. The bastard thought he was going to get away with it, did he? How dare he be _happy_ while his office was destroyed. It looked like their lessons in obedience needed to start immediately. He paced outside the door, waiting for the class to end, his mind racing on all the things he would do.

\-------

Crowley sighed as his classroom filled. As always it was a packed house. His special blend of humor and fact had made him the most popular professor in the science faculty, and the most requested. He loved preforming for a crowd - Doctor Tracy told him quite confidently that he'd been a famous street performer in a past life - but instead of excitement filling him as the minutes ticked down to his lecture, he felt anxious, antsy.

  
  
He stood taller and schooled his expression into something confident. His students loved him, but as with all things in life he knew if he let even a little weakness show they'd eat him alive.

  
His laptop was connected to the projector and he had his slides for the day queued and ready. He normally did his best not to rely too heavily on slides, as even he found that dull, but today was the last day they were spending on evolution, and he wanted to make sure they had all the key words down. He absently scrolled through his presentation, counting down the minutes until he'd activate the projector and allow the students to see his screen.

  
  
He paused.

About halfway through his lecture they were going to discuss a variety of apes and their relation to humans. One of his favorites – for an ape anyway – was the Gibbons, which mirrored human relationships in such fun ways. They were known to be one of the only ape groups that were monogamous, but while of course there were some that stayed together, there were plenty that would cheat, break up, and remarry. Such fun drama.

Of course he would never cheat, break up, or even think about remarrying. Not with Azira in any case.

His hand refused to click on, his eyes refused to move. Something in the back of his mind was kicking him that he'd touched on something important, and needed to acknowledge it.

If only he could think of what it was.

Silence finally drew his attention.

The class was watching him with quiet intensity, pens at the ready. A glance at the clock showed he should have started almost five minutes ago.

He still couldn't move. What was he missing?

Azira...

It struck him like a bolt of lightening.

He snapped his laptop shut, hurriedly disconnected it, and shoved it in his bag.

“Professor?” Warlock, sitting several rows back so as not to appear too eager for class, seemed to be the only one to notice so far that Crowley was about to bolt.

“Yes, right. Class dismissed everyone! Enjoy the sun! Notes are online as always!” Crowley started up the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

Crowley's eyes darted to Adam, lounging in the back. He wasn't supposed to be in the class, but he always seemed to be turning up somewhere in Crowley's day.

“Gotta see Azira.” He hadn't meant to say it so blatantly to his students, but now that he'd realized what he needed to say to Azira, nothing else seemed to matter.

“He has class right now,” Adam said.

Crowley shrugged and continued up the stairs two at a time.

“Well alright then,” Adam grinned. He kicked at the chair next to him, and Crowley noticed the rest of the Them were grinning at him. “Let's go! Warlock, you coming?”

Warlock stood with a shrug. “I got nothing else going on.” He passed his gaze over the rest of the class. “Are you guys as curious as me?”

Laughter, the shuffling of chairs and bags, Crowley didn't notice any of it. He was already out the door and striding towards the English department.

He was almost halfway there when his steps faltered. What was he doing? Azira was in class, he wouldn't want to be interrupted, and what was he going to say anyway? He knew what he _wanted _to say, but he didn't have a ring on him. Maybe he needed to delay this a little.

“Hey.”

Crowley startled. His class was bunching up around him.

“Don't tell me you're chickening out,” Warlock said.

“You... don't even know what I was going to do,” Crowley said.

“Well whatever it was, you're clearly chickening out.”

Crowley bit his lip. He was. He knew it.

Warlock exchanged a look with Adam. Adam always naturally seemed to become the leader of whatever group he joined, but in this case he stepped back. He was by far closer to Azira, and in this case Crowley needed someone closer to him.

Warlock sidled up closer to him. “Look, this is Azira, right? I don't know him that well, but I feel like he's going to want to hear whatever it is you've got to say. So just do it.”

“Do it, do it, do it,” the Them whispered.

Crowley blinked, a bit amazed at the advice, and nodded. He was right. He had to do it now, or there was the chance he never would.

He pressed forward, resuming his long stride. Adam and Warlock raised their fists in a brief victory and small cheer from their classmates and rushed after.

The English department was a familiar sight at this point. While most of the lecture rooms were small, set up for more specialized classes, there were a few larger auditoriums for the general courses everyone was required to take. Many of the classroom doors were closed, but there were an almost equal number that were open. Crowley stopped, and for the first time realized that he had no idea what room Azira would actually be in.

Adam jostled his shoulder and pointed further down the hall.

A few steps more and he wouldn't have needed the pointer. Azira's soft tenor was easy to pick out from the hall, and easily identified his door. Someone was blocking the entrance, but Crowley hardly noticed as he shoved his way past.

Azira's back was to him as he wrote on the board. Crowley had to smile despite himself. He was sure if it was possible to have a chalkboard, Azira would be covered in dust and smiling through it all.

It took Azira's class a moment to comprehend the sudden influx of students as a wave followed Crowley in. There was a lot of shuffling as Crowley's students dove for seats, and when those ran out, they crowded to the walls, or just sat on the steps. A low murmur started up as the two classes huddled together for details.

It was the murmur that caught Azira's attention. He turned and was visibly taken aback at the packed classroom. Crowley was there in moments, taking his hand. “Angel.” His voice seemed to boom in the suddenly silent room.

Azira blinked at him, at a loss for what was happening. Cowley felt momentarily guilty for the confusion he knew he was causing, and squeezed Azira's hand reassuringly.

“What's going on?” Azira whispered.

Crowley smiled softly and pulled Azira closer, wrapping a hand around his waist, to the sound of sudden gasps from his audience. Neither noticed. Crowley bit his lip. He'd had so much to say, so much he'd planned on the walk over, but now here, in the face of Azira's questioning gaze he'd forgotten them all. The longer the silence went on the harder it was to begin, the harder it was to think.

Azira's face softened, and his hands came up to frame Crowley's face. An excited murmur was quickly hushed into silence by students now sitting on the edges of their seats. “It's ok, love.”

Crowley blushed faintly, and did his best to swallow his anxiety. He reached up to take Azira's writs in hand, pressing a kiss to each palm, and then held them tightly to help gain confidence.

“Azira. Angel... you are the most wonderful, amazing person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” He paused and huffed, annoyed with himself for struggling. “Angel, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We'll get a cottage in the country somewhere, and build a life together. I'm not sure what we'll do, or how we'll do it, but I know if I'm with you it won't matter. Please, angel. Start this journey with me?”

There was a brief cheer from his class that was hurried slienced.

Azira eyed them carefully before putting the students out of his mind. “Crowley... it's not that I don't want to... but logically... I mean, we hardly know each other if we're honest. It's been what, a few weeks? What if we do this, and you find out you don't like me? What if I have some appalling personal habits, or I snore, or something, and you decide you hate me?”

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, there's no chance of that happening.”

“But it could.”

“No, of all the things that _could _happen, of all the risks and potential falls, hating you is the one thing that will never happen. Not possible.”

“You don't know that, dearest –”

“I do.” Crowley pulled Azira closer, pressing their foreheads together. “Come on, Azira. Let me spend the rest of my life getting to know you.”

“But... I can't abandon my post, I just cant do that.”

Crowley laughed. “I'm not asking you to! Nothing about what I'm proposing means that we need to do this tonight. We can take our time, find a cottage that's perfect – one where we can fit your books and my plants, where we can have a lovely outdoor garden, and plenty of reading nooks. We can pack up and sell my apartment –”

“You want me to sell my shop?”

“Not if you don't want to. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do.”

Azira drew back, eyes wide, and for just a moment Crowley felt a real, bone deep terror that his angel was about to reject him, but then Azira is pulled him close, kissing him like he would die if he didn't.

The class roared, the sound echoing out into the hallway for all to hear.

Gabriel had been watching in amazed horror from the hallway. The sudden cacophony was a step too far. This was potentially disruptful to the other classes, and that was unacceptable. He entered the room shutting the door with a loud bang behind him. He stood, haughty and proud at the top of the stairs. He knew how to make an entrance. “What exactly is going on in here?

If either Azira or Crowley heard him, they didn't show it.

“I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to sell my shop,” Azira said.

Crowley grinned, “Yeah, I imagine that'd be pretty hard, but I don't think you'll want to live without them either.”

“True... Are you really going to be ok living among all my books? There's... rather a lot of them, I'm afraid.”

“Are you going to be ok living with all my plants?” Crowley teased.

“Your plants are lovely!”

“You haven't even seen _all_ my plants, angel.”

“That doesn't mean I don't _know_, dearest.”

Gabriel was not used to being ignored, and could feel himself steaming.

“But...” Azira bit his lip, “what happens to our students when we leave?”

“Oh, for fucks sake, be a bit _selfish_ for once. What about you? Do what's right for you. You've given your students everything they need to survive! And in the end, that's all you can do. Hell, we could leave right now, today, and they'd be just fine! Wouldn't you?” He turned to the class, hands on his hips, looking at them expectantly through his sunglasses. His students had been anticipating this. Crowley rarely held a class without demanding their participation in some form. “I can't hear you! I asked if you can handle yourselves!”

There was a small cheer from slightly confused students who weren't completely sure they could do what was being asked.

Crowley scowled at them, annoyed with the lack of enthusiasm. “What was that? I couldn't hear you? I asked if you needed a babysitter!”

“No!” The class shouted.

Gabriel snarled and stormed down the stairs.

“Can you handle yourselves!”

“Yes!”

Adam noticed him coming before anyone, and quickly nudged or smacked his friends.

“Should Azira give a fuck about himself for once?”

The class cheered again, as loud as they could.

“That's enough,” Gabriel ground out as he reached the front.

Crowley and Azira's expressions hardened. Azira's lack of fear at the sight of him served only to stoke Gabriel's anger. He could feel it beginning to boil over. He stalked toward Azira, only satisfied when he forced the professor to take a step back. In a flash Crowley was there, pressing a hand to Gabriel's chest, forcing a little space between them.

“Let's not act like children,” Crowley warned.

“Children?” Gabriel laughed incredulously. “You think that's what this is? No, you're the ones thinking like _children_. So naive. So fucking stupid.”

He turned to Azira, as though Crowley no longer existed, pressing forward against the hand against his chest. Crowley stumbled as he tried to keep Gabriel back with his hand alone, and inserted himself bodily between them.

“If you think I'm letting you –”

“You think you've taught _anyone_ to – what was it – survive? When you can't even follow your own advice?” Gabriel interrupted.

Azira's face was still infuriatingly impassive. He stepped closer to Crowley and pressed a hand to the small of his back, lending him his strength. Crowley gave him a sharp smile, his spine straightening. He glared back at Gabriel with renewed fervor.

Gabriel ground his teeth in fury. His hands itched with the need to bruise and break. “The only thing you've done, _Mr_. Fell is caused trouble for everyone you've ever interacted with. You think your student's are safe? No, no. They're all suspect now. Their loyalty is in question. It doesn't matter what you do, how you end this year. Every student from every class you've ever taught will have to denounce you publicly as incompetent if they want to stay in this program, and don't worry, I'll be sure to send you a copy of every one so you can see just how little an impact you've had here.”

He relished in the absolute silence that resonated around them. A little public humiliation was good for the soul.

“I will make it my life's work to erase your presence from these walls, from these minds. By the time I'm done it'll be like you never existed.”

Azira winced, and Gabriel grinned fiercely, happy to have finally gotten a reaction.

Adam cleared his throat.

Gabriel started at the sudden noise, and turned to unleash his wrath on whomever dared interrupt.

Every student had their phone out, the occasional shining light down on him.

“Phones. Down.” Gabriel growled.

“I'm not so sure about that one,” Adam said. “This happens to be pure gold. I'm sure the university paper, hell, any paper, would love to get this footage.”

“If you think –”

“Ah, ah, ah, Professor. I'd hold that thought. In fact, if I were you? I'd leave before you dig yourself in any further.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, but the cameras still focused on him made him pause. He glared at Azira and Crowley who both smiled pleasantly. Gabriel's gaze was withering, but it only served to make Crowley's grin grow. He almost said something. Almost. Instead he turned on his heel and strode from the room to a round of applause.

He was seething when he returned to his office and looked over it with a critical eye. The fact that his office was perfectly put back in order helped cool him somewhat. He breathed out, and paced, each step centering him more and more. He finally came to a stop in front of his window – one of the few non frosted in the department – and closed his eyes, breathing calmly as the sun warmed his face.

Gabriel would have been quite content to spend his day that way, but sadly he did have one class. It was a highly exclusive class available only to upperclassman actively seeking to major in Literature, and unfortunately he wasn't able to skip it. He gathered the few things he would need, and headed down to the proper room.

He paused upon entering.

It was empty.

There were still a few minutes before his lecture was set to begin, but Gabriel had a very strict attendance policy, and around this time the room was normally full. Or as full as it ever was with the few students who had qualified to take the class.

He moved to the front of the room and watched the clock as the seconds ticked down.

The hour struck without a single student arriving.

Normally at this point Gabriel would lock the door and proceed with the lecture but this...

For once he waited, just to see what the excuse would be when someone finally showed up. Maybe there was a school event. A pep rally, whatever that was. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his email looking for anything that could explain the mass absence. When he found nothing he packed up. He wasn't about to waste an hour in an empty classroom.

The trip back upstairs was a little annoying, knowing he'd wasted so much of his precious time, but he wasn't so much angry as confused.

Still pondering he walked into his office, and pulled to a sudden halt.

Michael was sitting behind his desk, looking over a few of the papers he knew he hadn't left out.

“Michael, just the person I wanted to see.” Gabriel did his best to sound unsurprised at finding her there, and was pleased to find he'd succeeded.

“Well than we have a pleasant coincidence,” Michael said blandly.  
  
Gabriel's smile faltered under Michael's quiet intensity. Despite her words, everything about her tone and posture said something else.

“Y-es.” He paused, unsure of exactly what to say.

Michael offered no assistance, just watched.

“Do you happen to know if there's some university event today?”

Michael said nothing.

  
  
Every Professor had their own way of doing things, and Michael was no exception. While Gabriel believed absolute control and strict policy were what was necessary to run a classroom, Michael ruled through silence and a calculated gaze. For some teachers that may invite rowdiness and inattention, but Michael wasn't _some_ teacher. Without saying a word she had the kind of absolute control Gabriel respected. Her stare was legendary. It was rumored could out stare a snake, and leave the snake feeling nervous. Other student's rumored she practiced by staring at the sun. Gabriel had no idea how she did it, and that made her interesting enough for him to follow.

  
  
It didn't stop at her classroom either. Michael had quickly risen through the ranks of educators to gain absolute authority over her department in less than a year without ever having had to raise her voice. Even the President of the University had differed to her before she'd left, making Michael her right hand. No one had challenged when she took the reigns of the English department, naming Gabriel and Raphael as her seconds. It had seemed right and natural for her to assume control.

  
  
Gabriel had always been impressed with her skillful manipulations, and watching someone squirm at the other end of her desk was always a pleasure to watch. Having been present at a number of Michael's dressing downs, it was surprising how long it took Gabriel to realize Michael was focusing that same attention on him now.

It was an uncomfortable experience.

  
  
Michael's face was carefully blank and professional, her hands crossed primly in front of her. Gabriel remained quiet, waiting for her to continue speaking, but Michael was content to stare at him, the only sound the quiet ticking of the clock high on the wall.

  
  
His eyes started to water has he waited for her to blink. This was a challenge, he knew that with a certainty, though he wasn't sure why she was directing it at him. Gabriel normally thought he was quiet adept at matching her gaze, but for some reason Michael seemed more intense than in their usual interactions.

  
It was odd. During their semi daily interactions, he felt as though they meshed well together, and was usually able to disarm her glare with a smile. Today there was something different in her, and Gabriel found himself fidgeting. He felt like an undergrad again.

  
  
"It wasn't my fault," he blurted finally.

  
  
Michael raised one delicate eyebrow, and Gabriel found himself compelled to fill the void.

  
  
"There must be some kind of mandatory event I wasn't told about..."

  
  
Michael lifted one finger and slowly shook her head.

  
  
"... Then...” He looked at Michael's narrowing gaze. “Is this... Is this about Fell? I'm handling that, Mike, you don't have to worry about it.”

“Handling it.” Michael said softly.

“Yeah.”

“You and I have very different definitions of that statement.”

“I –”

“_Handling _it, to me, would mean you had brought or were bringing him to heel. And that you were doing it in a, shall we say, quiet or private matter.”

“Well –”

“What _you_ seem to have done is attacked him. In front of witnesses. That's not even mentioning the physical assault in his office. Again, with a witness.”

“Michael –”

“Stop.”

Gabriel's mouth clicked shut.

“I normally don't care what you do, as long as you get the results I need. But this... I just can't imagine a way for you to have fucked up more. Handling this, is the last fucking thing you've done here.”

Gabriel's fists were clenched tightly, his frown cutting like a harsh line across his face. “Listen...”

Michael sighed, then gestured for him to continue.

“That man is a fucking menace. He doesn't listen, he doesn't follow direction, he is hands down the most annoying human I have _ever_ had the displeasure of meeting –”

“– and you lost your temper.” Michael said.

“No –”

“Gabriel. You lost your temper. I've always known you were a bit... passionate, shall we say. But you've always been good at enacting my vision. You've always been someone I could rely on.”

“I still am, I'll fix this. I'll get that fucker to turn in his resignation by the end of the day –”

“You still don't seem to understand. His resignation is not the one I want on my desk right now.”

“Then...”

“It's yours, Gabriel. By the end of the day I expect a professionally written letter telling me you're going to seek opportunities elsewhere, and I will graciously accept. Otherwise I'll have to throw you to the wolves. Word of your little... breakdown, has spread like wildfire, and unfortunately I can't just ignore it.”

“You're blowing it out of proportion,” Gabriel grumbled. “This is nothing, it'll be old news in a week.”

“No. Not this time. I have eyes everywhere, Gabriel, and this is all anyone is talking about. Student's who weren't even in the room are adding to the flames talking about the bruising they saw on his neck the day before this happened. It's painting a bad picture. It's showing that whatever has been going on between you two has been happening for a while, and how long that is keeps growing with every telling of the story. If all of this was just speculation, that would be one thing, but there is actual proof out there of you attacking him in a classroom! I have no idea how the video hasn't been released yet, and in a way that's worse. That means anyone who was smart enough to film you has enough blackmail material to get anything they want from you. And even more unforgivable, they can do that to me too. Because it's my department, and my reputation that's going to be ruined if anyone outside this university realizes I knew this happened and I kept you. I'm sorry, Gabriel, but I have to let you go. How you go, I leave up to you. I hope you make the right choice.”

“How I go?” Gabriel ground out.

“You can leave a letter, and make up something, and _potentially _preserve your career, or I can fire you now and have you escorted off the premises.”

“You don't have the authority to do this.”

Michael laughed shortly. “We both know I do.”

“That's not true –”

“Gabriel. Please. Don't make this harder than it is.”

Gabriel huffed. “What about Fell, then?”

“What about him?”

“This is all his fault. All of it.”

“Professor Fell has tendered his resignation as of the end of the semester. If you hadn't fucked up so badly we may have been able to get him out sooner. Today even, instead of you. But thanks to you, he has the students on his side now.” Michael sighed, and stood up. “I'm going to leave you to it. Take as much time as you need to write up your resignation. Make up some legitimate reason for your departure and we'll back your story.”

As Michael walked around him and out the door Gabriel forced himself to remain perfectly still, his body shaking with the effort. Michael shut the door firmly behind her, and as soon as he heard the click Gabriel lunged to his desk, grabbed a lamp and threw it at the wall. Books followed, cracking against the wooden bookcases and the wall, crashing to the floor, pages bent and torn. He kicked at the panels of his desk, and eventually picked up his chair and hurtled it across the room.

He stopped, panting in the destruction. His anger no longer felt like a roaring inferno, and now felt more focused.

Fell.

It was all his fault. All of it! If the bastard just respected the rules, obeyed his wishes, none of this would be happening.

Well, if he was going down, he would at the very least take Fell with him.

He stormed to the door and threw it open.

Raphael and Uriel stood right outside, watching him with blank expressions.

“Get out of my way,” Gabriel said with as much authority as he could.

Neither moved.

After a few minutes Gabriel stepped back and closed the door, resting his fist against the wood. It was quite some time later when he righted his chair and sat it behind his ruined desk, and opened his laptop – the only thing that had escaped his wrath, and typed up his resignation. His printer was one of the many things he'd thrown at the wall, so he settled for emailing it to Michael. If she wanted to make any changes she could.

He looked around at the chaos. There was nothing in his office he really wanted to keep out of his office – not now that he'd destroyed nearly everything. He shoved his computer in his bag and returned to the door.

Raphael and Uriel were still waiting. This time he stepped through, and the two flanked him, escorting him out of the building and to the parking lot. Neither said a word as he got in his car and drove away.

Crowley straightened from where he'd ducked behind a tree, and motioned for Azira to rise.

“He looked pissed,” Crowley remarked.

“I guess Michael finally fired him,” Azira said. He tried not to feel to relieved about it.

“I was hoping he'd catch fire. I guess this is close enough.” Crowley grinned at Azira, winking over his glasses. Azira rolled his eyes at the pun, but couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

As though he could sense them Gabriel's head whipped up and he looked directly at them. Azira and Crowley both recoiled, paused, and gave a cheerful wave.

“He doesn't know where you live, right?” Crowley murmured.

“Oh, God no. I never put a residence on file.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

Gabriel made to step towards them and his escort turned him back.

“Good on Michael for that,” Crowley said.

“She's got enough on her plate with that video, she doesn't need to add to the circus.”

“Has it been released yet?”

“No, I imagine Adam is orchestrating things to their max drama though. I wouldn't be surprised to find a lot of A students on the roster this year.” Azira sounded proud.

As they stepped back onto the sidewalk and linked hands. Azira gave Crowley a shy look. “Were you serious about moving in together?”

“Of course. Were you serious about going through with it?”

Azira peeked at Crowley's face. Even though he was trying to look casual and relaxed, Azira could see the terror slowly seeping in.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Relief bloomed across Crowley's face.

\-------

Their cottage on the South Downs was quaint and lovely.

  
  
Azira had been worried at first. It looked a tad small on the outside, and he wasn't sure what he would do if his books didn't fit.

  
  
Crowley simply smirked. "Losing your faith in me already, angel?"

  
  
"Well...no...I mean -"

  
  
"Get out of here," Crowley's wink softened the potential harshness of his words. "I'll text you when you can come back."

  
  
Azira left a bit hesitantly. He stopped at the sidewalk and glanced back. Crowley was watching him through a window and shooed him, a soft smile unbidden on his face.

  
  
Azira wasn't really sure what to do with himself. He walked into town, which was by no means an impossible distance, but did kill ten to fifteen minutes, and then paced the streets, quietly fretting.

  
  
His feet eventually stopped him in front of a dusty glass display.

  
  
He glanced up and was a little surprised to find an old bookshop, which was miraculously open.

  
  
A small bell dinged as he pushed open the door, and an elderly man behind the main counter hardly spared him a glance as he stepped inside. Azira was used to the look of disinterest - it was one he'd long mastered - and felt a little bad for intruding. But then, the man made no move to kick him out of the building, so he ventured further in, and was finally able to lose himself for a while.

  
  
Crowley's chime pulled him out of a very good quality copy of Mark Twain's Life on the Mississippi that was easily worth £425.00 – if not more to the right collector – which was marked for only £3.50. He glanced at his phone, feeling some of his anxiety creep back, and hurriedly bought the book and raced back to the cottage.

  
  
He wrung his hands as he moved up the walk, mentally regretting all of his life choices, and hastily planning some way to convince Crowley to go back to London with him.

  
  
He stopped on the stoop, wondering if he should announce his presence. Before he could decide, Crowley threw open the door, a large grin on his face. With a flourish he waved Azira through.

  
  
Azira gasped as he stepped over the threshold.

  
  
His normal bookcases were placed in the logical areas he'd picked when they'd done their first walked through. Crowley had clearly sanded and painted them, replacing their old worn look with something classier that blended nicely with the walls. More shelving had been added along every other wall, placed at a good distance above whatever other furniture happened to be there, painted to match. Crowley had picked a series of simple and minimalist bookends on these, and had placed various pictures and plants alongside the books, creating a modern look Azira didn't normally go for, but which had come together quite stunningly. In the living room area slender leaning bookcases meshed seamlessly with Crowley's sleek furniture. The hallway's had even more storage. Crowley had lined one side with shelving starting roughly two feet from the floor, and going all the way up near the ceiling. He had kept the space looking bright with a light colored paint, and had placed a modernist painting opposite. Perhaps Azira's favorite was the clever shelving underneath the staircase, and winding up to the second floor.

  
  
Everywhere intermingled with the books were Crowley's plants. Each selected with a specific purpose in mind, maximizing the pop and color of various flowers, and adding much needed light and warmth to the otherwise almost over crowding of books.

  
  
Azira had never felt there was such a thing as too many books, but he could admit Crowley's choice of color, arrangement, and placement were perfect, and made the cottage feel like a home.

  
  
The kitchen was the one place nearly devoid of books. The only exception was the wooden island, which had a small nearly concealed shelf containing a small assortment of cookbooks. By the window was wide selection of plants, including some delightful smelling herbs.

  
  
“How... could you have possibly done all this?” Azira asked in amazement. “I wasn't even gone that long!”

  
Crowley shrugged. “I have to have some secrets, angel.”

  
  
“...Did you hire someone?”

  
  
“That is one way to do it.”

  
  
Azira was at his side in an instant, pressing a kiss to his cheek and ear. “I love you.”

Crowley turned a delightful red.

“How did you organize the books?”

“Uh...”

Azira laughed, delighted.

  
  
Azira spent most of the following days happily organizing and reorganizing, delighting in the various shelving solutions Crowley had devised, and reading out on the lawn while Crowley tended his garden.

  
  
Growing on chalk seemed very intimidating to Azira, but Crowley delighted in the challenge, and soon they had a garden that was the talk of the town.

  
  
Crowley hated the attention, worried it would go to the plants heads, and took extra care to break their spirits with taunts, threats, and shouts. Azira discretely went around after him, cooing softly, and caressing trembling leaves and flowers.

  
  
Crowley knew he did it, but he couldn't very well shout at Azira. He could only settle for pouting, which always drew Azira away from the plants and into his arms. It made the obvious spoiling of his plants a little more tolerable. As time went on his pouting became more and more dramatic, knowing it would draw Azira to him faster, much to his amusement.

  
  
During the day they always made time for each other. Walking hand in hand across the Downs they would watch the sheep grazing like fluffy clouds on a sky of green, and stop along cliffs of chalk to watch the ocean. Crowley soon became a local terror, racing his Bentley out of and back into town, with Azira clutching the door, doing his best not to scream. Crowley made sure to thoroughly check each road and side street on a quest for the best restaurants and bakeries while Azira kept his eyes out for more hidden away bookstores and antique shops. After all, living in a older town had to have some perks.

  
  
Neither had officially sold their homes in London, though Azira's bookshop emptied more with every month. Crowley had argued London was only a little over fifty miles from the South Downs, and with his driving that was nothing. Azira wasn't sure if this was unofficially to help him get used to the move or if Crowley was just as reluctant to leave the big city as he was, but it was definitely working at making him far more comfortable with the change.

  
  
At night they would either eat out, or Crowley would cook, much to Azira's delight. Crowley had not normally been a big cooker, but the radiant joy on Azira's face at every meal had him secretly researching recipes whenever possible.

  
  
Tonight Crowley had prepared cheese stuffed ravioli, cooked alongside several types of vegetables from his garden, topped with a pistachio herb butter sauce that had Azira humming with pleasure at every mouthful.

  
  
Crowley had his head resting in one hand, a soppy expression on his face as he watched.

  
  
Azira paused, shooting him a questioning look. He was finally used to Crowley's obsession with watching him. He wasn't so used to the silence.

  
  
Crowley started a little at being called out, even if Azira hadn't said a word. A pleased smile slowly crossed his face. He flushed a little.

“Everything alright, my dear?”

Crowley ducked his head, looking at Azira from under his lashes.

Azira scooted closer, and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I'm just happy,” Crowley admitted. “I never thought I'd be this happy.”

Azira beamed, and drew Crowley to him by his ridiculous tie, placing a soft kiss to his lips that slowly evolved into more, leaving a pleased heat between them.

“I love you,” Azira whispered.

“I love you more,” Crowley answered.

“I don't think that's actually possible.”

“Are you really going to argue with me now?”

Azira laughed. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


End file.
